


Scum and Villainy, Part I: Scum

by msdaphne



Series: Without A Cause [4]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Age Difference, Aliases, D/s, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Masochism, Poe Dameron's Aliases Also Hurt Rather Prettily, Porn with thoughts, Rape Fantasy, Scarification, Under-negotiated Kink, Veterans, and ghosts, or is it a fractured personality, psychedelic vapors, punching space Nazis, the badass women of Star Wars, the sensitive men of Star Wars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2018-10-25 22:50:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 49,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10774128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msdaphne/pseuds/msdaphne
Summary: In which we begin to explore some of the missing twenty months inWithout A Cause.In this installment: An eight-day pleasure cruise, much needed, well deserved, and paid for with stolen credits. What could possibly go wrong?





	1. Tarbel Ota

**Author's Note:**

> Most of the fics in this wildly non-linear series manage to stand on their own, but this one has a lot of callbacks. It might not make much sense unless you've read [Part 1 (Without A Cause)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8620081).
> 
> No Archive warnings apply, but there is some pretty squicky stuff that I will warn for in chapters. It's probably the hardest to read in this series. There's a lot of on-screen trauma in Part 1, but we see Poe's survival mechanisms in action. But survival comes at a cost. At one point he thinks: _It was going to fucking whallop him if he ever actually sat down to think about it._
> 
> That's what happens here.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple of days after [ chapter 13](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8620081/chapters/20983070).
> 
> Poe has just watched a small shuttle carrying Finn to D'Qar disappear into the clear night sky of Naboo. His own transport leaves in the morning. As long as he's off before they start looking for him, he'll be fine. Just fine.

* * *

 

The first night alone on Naboo was the worst. Not only did it hurt like hell, but it felt pathetic. Like this was something he ought to have been able to handle by now. He'd spent plenty of time alone, physically. But being alone in all the galaxy, with no home to return to - it hurt.

The pain in his chest was back, and didn't go away after hours of trying to cry himself to sleep. And his intention was to drink himself to death, right? That's what Ben had seen, right? And he'd never been one to procrastinate. So. He dressed and went down to the cantina.

 

Poe had always made friends so easily, had always attracted friendly conversation in places like this. But the pain on his face, his red, puffy eyes, along with the traces of injury, must have scared people away. It wasn't long before the bartender was scanning the room and then gesturing at him to someone.

"Waiting for someone?"

He shook his head at the glittery young woman that approached. 

"So what's a good-looking guy like you doing all alone in a place like this?"

"To be honest, I just, uh, broke up with someone," he fibbed. It wasn't exactly true, but it was _emotionally_ true. "Kinda sucks."

"Oh, honey," she lamented, scritching at the nape of his neck, "I'm sure she didn't deserve you."

"He," he corrected.

"Oh." She looked up and around the room. "I can find one of the boys for you?"

"No, no. You're fine. I'm not really, um."

 

What he really wanted was to ask if there were any _professionals_ around. But he hadn't thought about it til this moment, and it was too late now; he'd been drinking. No one would see him like this.

She cocked her head quizzically.

"Nothing. My head's a mess. Just lemme get one more."

"Take your time, honey, whatever you want."

He ordered a double whiskey and slammed it; it made his eyes water. He followed her to a very small room. Small, but like seemingly everything else on Naboo, somehow opulent.

He'd only done this a couple of times, and those were sort of misunderstandings, many years ago, when he was young and dumb and fun to be around, and had no reason to question why provocatively dressed young men might seem to hang on his every word. By the time he'd figured out what was going on, those times, it was too late to back out politely.

 

He didn't even know how to ask her for what he wanted, or what she'd say. So he didn't ask. He handed her a generous burner chip and disrobed from the waist up, then pulled out his belt and handed it to her. He knelt against the side of her bed and waited for her to laugh at him, or kick him out, or both. 

He cursed himself as he heard his belt hit the floor with a heavy thunk, but she didn't say anything. Instead he heard rustling, and then a loud snap next to his ear. He turned to see her holding her own belt, a fine piece of Emori craftwork. Full of eyelets and braided bits, it would cut through the air more cleanly than his own wide, load-bearing one.

He sagged in relief, slumping against her bed, arms bracketed around his head.

"Please."

"That's some nice work on your back, there."

"Thank you," he mumbled.

"Professional."

"Yep."

"I'm not that kind of professional."

"I know. I mean, I assumed."

"I'm not gonna mess that up on you."

"I don't care."

"I've got bactamelis."

"That's great. Thanks."

"I've got the good stuff, too. I gotta charge you for it. But - you're not gonna need that, right?"

"Bactamelis is fine."

Salt would be fine. Sand would be fine. Everfruit or vinegar, piss or whiskey. He didn't give a fuck.

She was great; she started off light and worked her way up efficiently, no playing around. He was sleepy and trembling and shining with sweat before she got anywhere near requiring bactamelis.

When she got there it woke him up a little. For a moment he was afraid - what if she did cut him, what if it did scar, what if it marred Rold's masterpiece, ten years in the making? But concern evaporated before he could even try to talk himself out of it. He was never going to see the man again, and more importantly, he just didn't care.

He slipped under again just as quickly, imagining himself back in the cantina where she'd picked him up. He was with one of the _boys_ she'd offered to get, spilling everything, confessing to the fib about Finn being an ex. He couldn't see the guy's face or even hear his voice clearly, he was just a sage presence:

_Sometimes it just doesn't work out between slutty old traitors and handsome young architects of their own freedom. I know how it is, honey. We've all been there._

 

He came to in a pile of pillows on her floor. There was a deep, bruisy throb where elaborite Naboovian embroidery pressed against his still-healing ribs. He couldn't even feel his back until he tried to move; then it stung like a thousand dull needles. He grunted by way of announcing himself.

"How you doin, baby?" Her voice came from above; she was in her bed.

"Oh my god, you're so good."

"Well, thanks."

She sounded pleased, unsurprised, not particularly authoritative. She sounded _cheerful_. He hauled himself up to his knees, she offered him a flask of water.

"How'd you get so good? You get a lot of this around here?"

"I wouldn't say a lot, no."

He wanted to press the question. He really wanted to know. But he didn't want to annoy her, didn't want to ruin the pleasant, the calm, the almost-whole feeling in his chest.

...

He shaved, finally. It felt like months since the last time, not a week. He ditched the sideburns while he was at it. He'd had them since he was nineteen; he'd probably grown them in the first place to look older. Without them - he had to laugh at what he saw. He looked _young_. Even with the butch nose job and yellowing bruises. He smiled at himself, a real smile.

He didn't look like a murderer. Or a victim. His whole _ordeal_ felt like a bad dream. She had really fixed him up. He was grateful.

 

* * *

 

She had also directed him to a records shop to get a new ID. They told him he wouldn't be able to choose his new name. It made sense; whatever his own brain came up with would probably be too much of a clue to anyone savvy enough. Like, _Beau Hammerson_ , he thought, suppressing a snort in the Extremely Serious atmosphere of the underground stall.

 

What they gave him was _Tarbel Ota_. Socorroan, a generous 28 years old.

_Tarbel? Seriously?_

Did they even know that that was the name of an obsolete, if not extinct, programming language? And _Ota_? That sounded like a Duros name, and he was quite distinctly human. He didn't hide his displeasure.

"So long as you live to bitch about it," they'd shrugged. 

Whatever. It was a fallback anyway, and having a stupid name was a good excuse for using whatever _nom du rue_ he would eventually settle on.

 

Tarbel had been used for some kind of imaging, magnetic imaging, if he remembered right. It had had a brief run in medicine. Before his time, for sure. His parents, maybe. He could be the son of programmers who'd named him after what they'd thought, at the time, was an exciting new technology. He'd have to look it up, so he could talk convincingly about it.

Or.

Maybe he didn't need to know anything about it. Not as the ne'er-do-well son who'd rejected everything they valued. He'd been nurturing addictions from a young age, was spice-addled and had naturally drifted into sex work for lack of options. Ignorance just bolstered his alias.

 _Nice_.

...

 

He was picking out a spare set of clothes when he remembered. Veterinary medicine. Right. Tarbel was probably still used in veterinary medicine.

 

* * *

 


	2. Socorro

* * *

 

Socorro was a little close to D'Qar for comfort, but he figured he was obliged to see the place, now that he was from there.

He'd been there several times, but had mostly just seen the inside of hangers. Mostly, in fact, he'd just seen the inside of his own cargo hold, while he hastily secured stacks of weapons and crates of charges, sweating under the engines that kept the repulsor coils and atmo boosters standing by; taking off hot inside the narrow window he'd been given, the arrangement of which was none of his business.

The surface had looked interesting from the cockpit. If the coming war were short and decisive enough, he'd thought, he might still be on D'Qar when it ended. Socorro might be a nice spot for a postwar vaca. At the time, there hadn't been anyone in particular he'd want to go with. The Rapiers, he supposed, if they'd let him twist their arms. If they were alive.

...

It had been a rough place, once, but had prospered under the New Republic and the patronage of its favorite son.

Industries had been cleaned up, in both senses. Tourism was an increasingly large sector of the economy. People came from all corners of the galaxy to explore the planet's dramatic geology and diverse ecosystems, including its thousands of hot springs with various beneficial properties attributed to each.

Of course, there were hot springs and birdwatching in pretty much every sector. But only here were there a half-dozen private dwellings claiming to be the birthplace of Lando Calrissian, and hundreds of sites supposedly witness to pivotal moments in his young life.

Even more iconic - or tacky, depending on your taste - were the countless Lando impersonators that held court in cantinas around the planet; posing for holos, officiating weddings, and making fantasies come true for humanoids of all genders.

 

Tarbel obviously wasn't going to get any _work_ here, not with that racket going on. That was fine; he was sitting on a pile of stolen credits, he could afford a vacation. He could use the beauty rest, could stand some time in the healing waters of volcanic springs.

And, of course, it was a research trip, too. Since it was going to be his homeworld for however long the rest of his life turned out to be. He signed up for an eight-day tour leaving the next day, and went out to get drunk.

...

He didn't have a chance to pay for a drink. He pushed a credit stick past his glass, and the bartender pushed it right back. They nodded to his left.

"The gentleman in the yellow shirt has this one."

He looked down the bar. The dude in the yellow shirt looked alright. He smiled and beckoned with a nod.

He'd thought he'd have time to mull over his story over a couple of drinks at least, but now he had to think fast. Tarbel was estranged and dissolute. So why was he back on his homeworld? Rehab? Asking for money? Death in the family?

Oh, death in the family. Definitely.

 

"Hey." 

"Hey. Thanks for the drink. I'm -"

 _Ugh._ He couldn't say it. He just couldn't.

"I'm Bel."

"Bel. I'm Vhen'ade. Call me Vhen."

"Vhen. So what brings you here?"

"Boring stuff, business trip. You?"

"Bury my father," he said with a cold shrug, indicating that he didn't want to talk about it. 

"Oh. Kriff. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he shook his head. Shit, why didn't he just say _volcanic springs_?

"How old was he?"

"Fifty-four," he guessed.

_Fuck, this was a mistake._

"Oh, hell. I'm so sorry. So young."

"Not young enough," he spat out, without fully thinking it through. He hadn't meant to have _that_ bad a relationship with Ota senior. All he knew was that he wanted to change the subject, and that if things were shitty enough people tended to back away.

Not Vhen, apparently; his lips curled, as if the sentiment resonated.

"What, was he a fucking neo or something?"

_Holy shit, that's genius. Why didn't I think of that???_

He took a long sip of his drink to process that.

"Probably. Last time I saw him he was _merely_ an unapologetically authoritarian bigot." He snarled down at his glass. "I can only assume he was thrilled to see those thugs breaking out."

"And when was that? The last time you saw him?"

He felt Vhen's eyes on him, felt them lingering over the yellow-green bruises slowly fading from his face. Well, it was too late to dial it back _now_. If he was twenty-eight now, then he would have been thirteen in-

"19 ABY. I was thirteen."

"How is your mother handling it?"

He snarled again.

"I wouldn't know. She's the reason I'm here, and not at the temple."

"Oh."

"Dunno why I even bothered coming. I guess I thought maybe when I got here... I don't know."

Tarbel's miserable life was becoming realer with every syllable. Part of him cringed a little at laying it on so thick. But six years of espionage had taught him that thick and shameless tended to work.

"So you've been, on your own."

"Yup."

"How did you, you know."

"Not a lot I'm proud of," he admitted, the first true thing he'd said to the guy. He twisted his lips into a rueful little half-smile; a languid blink said the rest.

"Ah," Vhen answered, and pulled away a little.

Something inside of him pumped its fist in the air. Even if he want back to his room alone tonight, the guy had _believed_ him.

"I'm not working tonight, if that's what you're thinking."

"Um, okay."

He watched, amused, as Vhen tried to figure out what that meant, exactly, vis-a-vis them hooking up.

Apparently Vhen was an extremely decent person, because he said the last thing Bel wanted to hear.

"Look, you left; you got yourself out. You didn't follow in their footsteps. I think _that's_ something to be proud of. I'm sure it wasn't easy."

 

Those words made him sick. He knew someone who had gotten himself out; that person was Finn. And Finn was out there right now, enduring debriefing under Leia's personal supervision, to earn the right to fight and risk his life and maybe die for the freedom of worthless shitbags like Bel Ota.

He didn't want to drink anymore. He didn't want to hook up with Vhen. He didn't want to go to bed alone. He didn't want to stay and talk to whoever showed up next, after Vhen got bored and disgusted and left. There was not a single blessed thing that could convince him he shouldn't have just died in a crash like the one he'd tried to invent.

 

"Hey. Bel."

"What."

Vhen was grinning at him mischievously. He nudged him in the arm.

"When's the last time you did a Nunb bomb?"

Bel snorted, despite himself. Okay, that was possibly the _one thing_ anyone could have said to make him laugh. Of course, if anyone over the age of twenty did Nunb bombs, it would be _here_.

Created to commemorate the destruction of the second Death Star, the drink consisted of a flaming shot of bitter, smoky 90% Sullustan whisky, dropped into a glass of - ideally - the finest Coruscanti sparkling. (In practice, it was generally a glass of shitty local sparkling.) If you dropped the shot just right, it would offer up a perfect ring of steam and smoke, which you just had time to admire before the fizz threatened to overtop the glass. You had to chug the thing, spilling half of it on your clothes and burping for an hour afterward; you sure as hell didn't want to _taste_ it. It was the stupidest thing.

 

They did three of them. After the second, he let Vhen lick the spillage off his chin. By the third he didn't care who saw him leaning back against the bar, allowing the man's tongue to roam down to his collar. With his head thrown back and Vhen's mouth on his throat, he burped up fizz long and loud, like he was declaring war on the heavens.

It was very silly and juvenile, and the sex they had later was vanilla and drunk and sloppy as they investigated each other's bodies for stray traces of the ridiculous concoction.

 

* * *

 


	3. The Scum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An eight-day pleasure cruise around Socorro. What could possibly go wrong?

* * *

 

They were fairly hungover in the morning, and Bel was ready to forget about the tour and just sleep in. It had been an impulse, not something he was wedded to. But Vhen continued to be the perversely decent person he'd been the night before, encouraging him to connect with his roots. It was an  _interesting_  planet, he said, even beautiful in places, if challenging. Few people's idea of paradise, but worth seeing.

"Don't hate the whole planet just because your folks were misguided jerks."

"I don't. I'm just hung over. I'm not used to drinking that much."

"Well, I got a meeting to get to. If you can get yourself up in ten, I'll buy you a frothy caf."

"You're into ... complicated drinks."

"I guess. I try to keep my life simple. Maybe that's my outlet."

"Uh-huh."

"Do Not. Try to translate that into some kind of metaphor about my taste in dudes."

 

* * *

 

It wasn't just a tour. It was a _cruise_. 

A planetary cruise. For fuck's sake. Bel shook his head at the gleaming, streamlined air yacht. At least it was  _supersonic_. He didn't remember Poe Dameron being particularly snobbish toward atmospheric craft, but then, he probably didn't need to be.

He checked in at the ramp. Yes, he was alone, yes, he was excited, no, he didn't have any more luggage. Liftoff was in an hour, there would be a complementary toast, of course he'd join them, he wouldn't miss it.

 ...

If Bel Ota had a chip on his shoulder about transports, it was probably out of ignorance. But he couldn't be _completely_ ignorant, or it would be hard to get around. He had to be good at  _something_  besides giving head.

Maybe some of the programming his parents had taught him had stuck. Maybe he'd done a little time as a cabin boy, managed to pick up some navigation. Astronics, even. And binary, kriffing hell, he wasn't gonna get far without that. Not comfortably, anyway.

 ~~Poe~~  stared at the ceiling of the tiny cabin, fingering the pipe in his pocket, tempted to take a hit to ruminate more on Bel's background and skillset. He liked it, but he was a lightweight and didn't want to be high when he went to meet his new neighbors for the next eight days. Maybe someone would want to come back with him after the toast, get high and fool around or something.

_But seriously. Ota. I don't like it._

_Stormslayer?_

_Darkstrider?_

_Cocksucker?_

_What's Old Basic for telling your neo rents to fuck off?_

He watched the circle of early-morning sunlight through his tiny porthole flatten into an ellipse and crawl down the bulkhead. 

_Halé._

_Halé_  was Old Basic for  _evening._ It was easily ported into modern basic as _'ale_ or _ale_ , carrying a vaguely valedictory sense. It could mean _before_ , as in the eve of an event, but just as often it meant  _after_ , as in  _sunset, the end_.

_Bel Otaale._

It could have meant  _see ya, fuckers_ , when he was thirteen. In the right company it could mean  _good night fash trash_ , and in the wrong company it could plausibly be an homage to Ota senior.

It was fitting to the twilight of his own life. And - he just liked the sound of it.

_Shit._

Of course he liked it; the cadence of it was a lot like  _Poe Dameron_. This was why record shops didn't let people pick their own names, wasn't it? 

Whatever. It would be a hell of a lot easier to disappear into something he  _liked_.

The ten-minute chime sounded, and that settled it. He coaxed his hangover out of the bunk with the promise of a taste of the ol' hair of the wampa, and grumbled down the hall to meet the square-ass families, honeymooners, and retirees that he'd joined for this square-ass fucking _cruise_.

 ...

Families seemed absent from the observation lounge, and that made sense; they probably had their hands full settling their kids into their cabins. Likewise with the honeymooners, and that made even more sense; they were probably fucking their brains out. The assembled retirees were already making friends, clustered in little groups and chatting excitedly. He noted with approval that the human majority seemed to be completely at ease with the xenos among them. At least he wasn't going to be stuck here with  _assholes_.

He lingered at the end of the hall, scoping out the exits and traffic patterns. A couple huffed up the adjacent hall, coming from the ramp, last-minute arrivals. A porter bot had two of their bags, but they each carried another. He was at the woman's side in an instant.

"Can I take that for you, ma'am?"

She looked up, surprised. She studied his face for a second.

"Please?" he added, smiling hopefully, like she'd be doing him a favor, and she handed him the bag, meeting his eyelashes with a flutter of her own.

He didn't know where Bel had learned to do that. Poe Dameron had picked it up very young; he'd always been shameless about flirting with women twice his age. It wasn't even intentional; it was like switching between languages.

 

He waited for the porter bot to clear out before setting her bag down. Four bags. Kriff, they were only going for eight days.

"Thank you, young man," she patted his cheek. "Look at this one, Horace!"

"Horace Tofana," the man held out his hand. Bel introduced himself and turned back to the woman, taking her hand.

"Minnini Glasser. Call me Min."

"Min," he repeated, kissing her hand. "It's a pleasure."

Her girlish giggle ended in a snort.

"Oh, Force. Now, whose are you?"

"I am utterly single, my dear, but  _don't tell your husband_ ," he ended in a loud stage whisper.

"No, I mean who are you here with - wait, let me guess."

    _With?_

They murmured his name, rolling their eyes back as if they could read the contents of their brains. They guessed a couple of names while he shook his head and his smile grew wider.

"Give up?"

"Tell us."

"I am here all by my lonesome. I was born here, haven't been back in ages, thought I should have a look around and see where I come from. I don't know a goddamned soul within ten sectors and the ones I do, I'm trying to forget." He held out his open palms.

"Oh." They seemed very surprised. But just then the two-minute chime went off, and they had to hurry back to the lounge.

"Well, welcome to the scum cruise, Bel."

"The what now?"

"Just a bunch of us old rebel scum, get together every year to see the sights and tell the same old war stories."

"Make sure the ol' memory banks are still synchronized," Horace chuckled, tapping his skull.

 

    _Oh._

 

    _No._

 

    _Run. Y_ _ou have ninety seconds. RUN._

 

But his feet were rooted to the spot. And it was too late anyway, the repulsors were already humming under them, the hatches were sealed, laughter floated out from the lounge.

"You alright, son?"

"Yeah," he said faintly. "Just a little dizzy, I'll be fine."

Min took him by the elbow.

"Oh, heavens," he chided himself, straightening up and taking her arm instead. "No, that's  _my_  job."

"Is it, now?" She sounded dubious, but she didn't stop him.

"I mean, it's my pleasure."

"There you go. Good boy."

He smiled as well as he could, holding her on his arm as they entered the lounge. Eight days of flirting, he could handle. Eight days of war stories? Maybe if he were  _invisible_. He'd have to grit it out to the first stop, when he could bow out, claiming airsickness or something.

 

They were handed flutes of sparkling wine just in time. The hum of the repulsors deepened to a slight vibration and then, just like that, he felt the earth release its hold, without the engines having come anywhere near taxing themselves. This was a nice fucking ship, he thought. Under all the swoopy lines and white tablecloths was a real nice piece of engineering.

"Liftoff!" the group of vets yelled, and Bel raised his glass with them and toasted his neighbors and sipped a very nice glass of sparkling, in somewhat surreal contrast to the juvenile bomb shots he'd been doing the night before.

Horace and Min were hugging and greeting the people around them, so he slipped away to the bar before they could start introducing him around. He traded his empty flute for a whiskey on ice and slumped in a seat in the corner.

 

 

This.

Holy fuck,  _this_.

This was Poe Dameron's  _element_.

Forty-odd veterans of the galactic civil war, all to himself, for eight days.

To listen to, to profess his admiration to. To trade stories with, to talk about his _parents_. To analyze pivotal battles. To talk strategy, to talk politics, to preach to about the fucking FO. 

And, yeah, also to carry bags for, to flirt with, to be virtually adopted by.

 

This would have been Poe Dameron's idea of  _heaven_.

It wasn't fair. It just wasn't  _fair_. He should be here for this. He would have loved this.

 

"Bored to tears already?"

"Huh?" He looked up, blinking,  _oh, shit_. He wiped his cheeks. "Sorry. I, um, didn't even realize - sorry."

"S'okay. May I?"

"Please. I'm, uh, I'm Bel."

"Kadja." Kadja scanned his face. "You're not one of Nessa's boys, are you? From her first marriage?"

"No, I'm sorry. I'm not anyone's anything. I just signed up last night, kind of an impulse. Sorry to crash your party."

"Well, damn, son. You were probably expecting some kind of hot singles cruise."

"Oh, stars no, that's the last thing I need. Just wanted to see the planet, that's all. Sorry about," he gestured vaguely at his face.

"Anything you wanna talk about?"

"No, I, I'll be fine. You guys came here have fun, and I'm kind of a wet blanket right now."

"Well," Kadja said, quietly, "we did come to have fun. But. We also came to grieve."

"Shit. Guess I'm in the right place, then."

Kadja squeezed his hand, and Bel squeezed him back gratefully.

"In fact, the first springs we're going to, tonight, they're supposed to help with healing grief."

_Oh really._

"Figured we should do that one  _before_  the libido tonic one," he chuckled.

"Good planning," Bel agreed. "Libido springs, huh? Aren't you guys all married by now?"

Instead of the obvious joke about  _why do you think we need the tonic_ , Kadja looked down. "Some of us are. Some of us  _were_."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

 

They sat quietly. He drank his whiskey, and his foreboding ebbed for a while. But he could hear the vets catching up since their last trip, and feared overhearing names he would recognize. Names that Poe Dameron would have been eager to hear more about.

"Hey, Kadja. Thanks for talking to me. I'm gonna go lie down right now. But I might want to talk more later? If that's alright?"

"I'll be here, kiddo."

 

Min was chatting near the exit to the cabins, and dropped away from her friends to follow him. He slowed to let her catch up.

"You're supposed to follow me discreetly, five minutes later. Unless you  _want_  Horace to cut my nuts off. Like, for a trophy or a souvenir or something."

She snorted. "You are - irrepressible."

"That's one word for it." He almost added  _is what my dad used to say_. But - that wasn't  _his_  dad.

"Would it help if I introduced you to some more folks? To break the ice?"

"No, no, you catch up with your friends. There's plenty of time for me to meet everyone, right? I just - need to lie down. I've had a rough -" he waved his hand around.  _Week_  just didn't seem like the right word, here.

"Well, let me walk you back? So I know where your cabin is? So I can come beat down your door if you don't show up for lunch."

"Of course," he grinned, nudging her shoulder with his.

 

She stopped short on entering.

"Where's your things?"

He pointed proudly to a little satchel sitting lonely on the wide luggage rack.

"Bel Otaale. I am going to get you drunk, and make you talk."

"Thanks for the warning," he winked. "And thanks for being so nice."

She hugged him; he kissed her cheek. She left, and he tumbled into his bunk and took a hit of spice and buried his face in his pillow.

 

* * *

 

The absolute last thing he wanted to do was to leave his bunk and have lunch with the old rebels, but he had no doubt that Min would make good on her threat to beat his door down. Playing dead would just make them more concerned, and more curious. So he dragged himself down to the dining hall, where his three new friends had saved him a seat at a table of eight.

They introduced him to the other four. They all agreed that it was a shame none of the _kids_ were here this year. There were usually a few families on the trip, adult children about his age that he could have hung out with. In the last few years there had even been a few grandchildren.

"Ooh, do any of _you_ have grandkids? Have any holos?" Anything to steer the conversation away from him and his backstory. But Min elbowed him in the arm and _tsshh-_ ed at him.

"What? I love kids!"

His innocent smile was met with lowered eyelids and a barely-restrained eyeroll that said _you ain't getting out of this that easy._

It really was a damned shame, they said, but it was understandable, what with _everything going on right now_ , why people wouldn't want to leave their homes, especially with children. Even a few of the old-timers had sat this one out.

"When you say _everything going on_. Are you talking about the gods-damned First Order?"

"So you know about them."

"I've heard of them, yeah. And I thought we had collectively learned our lesson after the _last_ war."

Enthusiastic curses went around the table. This was good. If they got talking on the neo-imperialist threat, they might put off interrogating the mysterious interloper. The various rumors about the Order and its origins were not entirely accurate, but not dangerously off the mark, either. And it wasn't like he could _say_ anything.

 

The topical conversation was interrupted by the arrival of their food. Once everyone's plates were sorted, their attention returned to the newcomer.

"So, Bel. Min says you're from here?"

"Well. I was born here. I left when I was pretty young, though."

"How young?"

"Um, thirteen. When I left."

"When _you_ left. Did you go to school somewhere else?"

He sighed heavily. He was just as reluctant to tell Bel's story as he sounded.

"No. I sort of ran away."

He practically _heard_ five pairs of eyebrows and two pairs of overlids ride up their owners' foreheads.

"With a friend. An - older friend. Technically, I guess, it was kidnapping. But. I was very much a willing passenger."

"... why?" someone asked tentatively.

"Um," he took another very deep, very heavy sigh. "My parents. They were. Um. They were 'loyal.' To the Empire."

The scum clucked and murmured sympathetically.

"And you could tell that was wrong, even when you were that young?"

"N-not exactly. They, um. Weren't really happy with me. Not being - the kind of kid they wanted. They were gonna sent me to that bullshit academy of theirs." He looked down, frowning. "I'd be a fucking _officer_ today. If I hadn't left."

" _Oh, honey_ ," Min said, softly. "I'm _so_ proud of you." She rubbed his shoulders in wide, soothing arcs.

"So... what made you decide to come back?" someone asked. He repeated the story about coming for the funeral and then skipping it anyway.

"Good for you, son," one of the men said firmly. "They don't deserve your tears. They don't deserve your time."

He saw Kadja wince at that, but he didn't argue. He just added, "Well, we are so pleased to have you here, instead."

"What did you _do_ ," one of the women asked, "at such a young age. Did you go to school?"

"I suppose there's _one_ thing I can thank them for. They were programmers; I learned code basically at the same time I was learning to read. So I always had something to offer. Besides the obvious."

"And that's what you do now?" She quickly added, " _Programming_ , I mean?"

"A little. I'm an AI trainer, most of the time."

"Ooh! Tell us all about that. How do you go about training AIs?"

He laughed out loud.

"No, no. The users are the ones that need training."

Enlightened murmurs washed around the table.

"So how do you train _them_?"

"Honestly? Being a good AI user is just being a good co-worker. It's all about communication. And, you know, respect, and being competent at whatever task you're trying to accomplish together. But really, it's about communication skills."

The group nodded, impressed.

"You have to be willing to question your assumptions. Or, at least, _elucidate_ your assumptions. Not take things for granted. It's a good way to think. It's kind of humbling."

It was easy enough to let his genuine enthusiasm creep out slowly, as if it were overcoming youth and shyness. He reflected the rebels' warm acceptance back at them. They never stood a chance; by the time the caf came around he had seven new parents.

More importantly, they temporarily dropped the matter of his origins. One side of the table waded into messy questions of AI ethics and exploitation, which he could talk about all day, while the other side devolved into humorous droid anecdotes. They weren't done grilling him, but it was a reprieve, for now.

 

* * *

 


	4. Rainbow Springs

 

* * *

 

The yacht dropped to subsonic speed with the same solid grace it had displayed at liftoff. Through the viewports they could see a wide, arid plain. A jagged rift cut through it, uplifted on one side. Within the rift was a narrow green valley, dotted with puffy clouds where thermal vents rose to meet the river. The uplift sloped away under sparser vegetation to meet the desert. The pilot banked to show them brilliantly colored pools spilling out from the base of the hills.

"Are those Ilassi Springs?" someone asked. No, the bartender answered, the healing springs were off any flight paths, for the privacy of the bathers. The ones below were Rainbow Springs, a near-boiling feature, definitely not for bathing. The wild colors came from thermophilic microorganisms, the foundation of a unique silicon-based ecosystem.

 

They landed at the modest little resort serving Ilassi, and the vets sorted themselves into groups for the afternoon. The groups bore familiar designations: A few, the slugs, stayed behind to drink and relax on the resort's patio. The majority, the blurrgs, split into smaller groups to hike to a lookout over Rainbow Springs. The kybucks, the most ambitious group, would do an extra loop down to see the springs up close.

Of course, the latter group waved young Bel over to join them, and it seemed like a good way to get out of having to talk too much. There were just five of them today, including himself. He'd met Shike at lunch; he was the guy that had commended him for skipping the funeral. He was one of the eldest of the scum, in his eighties. Ulon, by contrast, was the baby of the group; he was only fifty-one. Atana was an athletic and jovial sixty-something. She seemed to have a big-sister relationship to Ulon, and possibly a romantic one with Bunny. Bunny was tall and enviably buff, even now; she must have been a _beast_  when she was younger.

It was definitely the right group to be in. They kept a brisk pace and hardly spoke, communicating sometimes with infantry hand signals. During one break, they drank water and traded snacks like soldiers trading rations, all without saying a word. At the overlook, Shike motioned the other four up for a holo. Bel shook his head and switched places with him, also without speaking. It was kind of perfect.

 

The springs, when they got there, were gorgeous. The colors were mesmerizing, and their depths illusory. The surface glittered with tannerflies, which resided near the top of the short silicon-based food chain. Bel stared into the simmering water and thought about jumping. Hypothetically. It would be an awful way to go, but it would certainly get the job done.

"Shit," muttered Tana.

"Whas' wrong, babe?" Oh, so she and Bunny  _were_ a couple.

"Shoulda peed before we got down here. I don't wanna climb back up. To get far enough away from the spring."

"Shit," Bunny agreed mildly.

Tana stood and plotted out a contour-hugging path around the slope and set off. Ulon was sprawled on the rock ledge, reading about tannerflies in a guide book, when one landed on his shoulder. Bel _psst_  at him softly and held his finger out, asking permission to try to pick up the pretty insect. Ulon smiled. He had a nice smile. A  _really_ nice smile.

_Are you fucking serious? It has been-_

Liftoff had been at 0900, so approximately-

_Six hours. Six fucking hours. Nice going, jackass._

The thing climbed right onto his finger, and they inspected it. It looked kind of like a crystalline damselfly. The facets of its body twinkled rainbows of their own as it flexed its wings. They beckoned Shike and Bunny over to see. Bunny smirked at Ulon; Bel pretended not to notice.

 

Tana came back with a surprise of her own, giggling with her hands cupped around something. When they were all gathered around, she cracked a little space between her thumbs. A little snake-like face poked out. Snake-like but _cute_.

"What is it?"

"Is it in the book?" he asked Ulon, and took the opportunity to lean against him, reading over his shoulder.

"Is it a snake?"

"I don't think so. It didn't slither. It _bounced_. Like a weasel. But without legs. And scaly."

"Ooh," Ulon flipped to a page full of lizards. "Could it be a baby springdragon?" He showed a picture of a flattish, legless reptile, covered in crystalline scales, sharp beak open and reared up to strike.

"I don't know, Lonnie. Why don't you press _play_ and I'll tell you if it bounces the same way."

"Ha ha. If you'd wanted a holo guide, you could've brought your own."

"Right. If I'd wanted something that wouldn't fall apart in the rain."

"Something you can read _at night_."

"There's too much light at night as it is. I like books, okay?"

Bel wanted to jump in and side with him, but knew perfectly well he'd just bring even more teasing down on him. Instead he crouched in front of Tana.

"Hey lil dragon. Not gonna hurt you. We just wanna look. Never seen one of you before." The thing hissed at him. "Lookit your liddle eggtooth. Lookit it. Omigoodness. Lemme get something for you to bite."

Before he could get up, his new crush was handing him a finger-thick twig. He grinned up. "Thanks. Sorry about the baby talk."

"Well. It _is_  a baby."

Shike snorted, and off to his left Bunny made a noise like she was throwing up. He held the stick up and the thing snapped at it. Its beak wasn't strong enough to break it, but it put a dent in it.

"That's why I didn't give you my finger. I _need_ those." He didn't look directly at Ulon as he stood up again.

Tana set the baby dragon down on the ledge. It froze, looked around for a moment, and then bounced toward the brushy hillside. The people laughed at the awkward movement, and it froze again the second it was under the cover of some grass and leaves.

"S'okay, buddy. We're just laughing at you 'cause we're big dumb bipeds and we laugh at things we don't understand. You're beautiful, and someday you're gonna be a big scary dragon."

It bounced away, kicking up dry leaves.

"So," said Shike, "droids aren't the only ones you're good at _communicating_ with."

Bel laughed and crunched his face up a little, a look that he knew goddamned well was fucking endearing. "I don't think they understand basic."

"You don't think it understood your intention in the Force?" the older man asked, seriously.

He nudged against Atana's shoulder. "If it understood anyone, it was Tana. From the way you handled it."

"Yeah," Ulon smirked, "she was always good at handling lizards. Back in the day."

Bunny glared at him. "Just because I love you, don't think I won't smack you."

"At least it wasn't a _snake_ ," Bel added helpfully. The two men high-fived the pun while the rest of the group groaned.

"What is it with -" Tana gestured at them.

"It's because they're _children_ ," her partner concluded. 

"What, you're not into dick  jokes?" He left the tiniest space between the last two words, a flawless delivery.

"I outgrew dick  jokes a long time ago," Tana grinned back. "But it sounds like  _you're_ into them."

"Oh, I am very much into dick  jokes, sister."

"Kriff, you're _all_ children," Shike sighed. "We should probably hit the trail."

 

During a pit stop about halfway back, Bel found himself alone with Bunny at a bend in the trail. He wasn't surprised that she took the opportunity to warn him about flirting with her friend. He was a little surprised that that warning came in the form of shoving him up against a tree by the collar.

"He was married for _twenty-five years_ ," she gritted in his ear. "To a woman who we all _loved_ and miss very much."

He nodded furiously, throwing his hands up in surrender.

"Okay! I understand! Can I ask - what happened?"

"Few years ago. Stupid fucking accident. She should _be_ here."

"I'm sorry. What do you want me to do?"

"You and I both know that when this is over, you're gonna disappear as quick as you showed up."

He nodded. In fact, he hoped to be gone the next day.

"You make sure that is perfectly fucking clear to him, too. You understand?"

"I will. I promise."

She held his eyes for a moment, then released him at the sound of footsteps rustling back through the underbrush. She offered him a protein cube out of one of the pouches on her belt, and when the others rejoined them they were munching calmly, looking up into the trees and listening to the birds.

 

She hadn't warned him off her friend entirely; she'd just set conditions. And he almost forgot about his attraction anyway on the stiff uphill hike back. For one thing, they were all fit as fuck, age be damned; he had to work to keep up with them. And for another, it was easy to disappear into being part of a squad. They were soldiers at heart, and it was easy to feel like he was one of them. 

It wasn't just the hand signals and food sharing. It was a deeper kind of body language, a way of being together. Orientation to task. Close observation of the environment. Comfort with silence, a silence mainly broken by teasing. They knew how to keep distance in all the right places while maintaining an ineffable kind of connection. It was familiar, it was comfortable, it was the way of soldiers.

...

They returned to a round of applause from the rest of the scum, all chilling out at the patio bar or napping on chaises on the lawn. There were jokes about how they _nearly_  organized SAR, and then they were hustled off to clean up for a light dinner, before they caravanned out to Ilassi Springs. The best time to get there, supposedly, was an hour or two before moonrise.

 

* * *

 


	5. Ilassi Springs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The waters supposedly had the power to assuage grief, to heal the heart.
> 
> But it's probably just a bunch of made-up tourist-trap placebo-effect banthashit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for reference to self-harm (by an OC)

* * *

 

Kadja snagged Bel at dinner and asked him to ride out to the springs together. Buddies were recommended, supposedly, and he couldn't help but wonder how much of the "healing power" came from just talking. It was for the best, though; it saved him even contemplating asking Ulon. He'd already been warned once; the grief-healing waters of Ilassi  _probably_  weren't the best place to continue flirting with the cute widower. Even if their power was just some made-up tourist-trap placebo-effect banthashit.

 

In any other such group of his elders he might have been self-conscious about his body, might have felt the need to perform some kind of false modesty. But the vets had been bathing together for decades. About half of them split off into gender-exclusive groups, and the rest stripped efficiently. He saw out of the corners of his eyes that their bodies carried markers of their own. Battle scars, a couple of prostheses carefully stowed near the banks, and quite a few tattoos. A few bold ones, but mostly small remembrances. Still, he waded in quickly and waited for Kadja.

"Which way you wanna go?"

"Well, I think it's warmer upstream. And I think there are some others here who need that more than we do."

Bel nodded. There were pair of Sullustans and a pair of Ithorians among them; and some of the eldest humans might appreciate it, too. They waded downstream, through pools already claimed by small groups and pairs. They passed Tana and Ulon, shoulder to shoulder and talking about something that made them both smile. They didn't clam up at the sight of him, so it probably wasn't him. They traded greetings and moved on.

 

"Danice?" Kadja hailed a woman reclining alone against the stone, eyes closed against the sunset. "You're not here all alone, are you?"

"No, Rodell's catching up in a bit. I'm good."

"Have you met Bel, here?"

"Not yet. I asked whose handsome son that was, and they told me he's a stowaway."

"I paid my fare, I swear. I'm merely an interloper."

She smiled, but seemed to look at him in an eerily penetrating way.

"Well, I'm Danice. It's a pleasure to meet you. If you don't mind my saying -" she paused. He shrugged, not knowing what she was about to say.

"- that's some really lovely work on your chest."

"Thank you."

"May I?" she asked, holding out her hand.

"Sure." He stepped up on a rock to expose more of his torso. She ran her fingers across the delicate white lines and curls that decorated his chest and ribs.

"It's like lace."

"Yeah," he smiled. "That's kind of the aesthetic I was going for. Although. To be honest. It's not really about that."

_It's about trust. And pain. Trust is the drug that takes away fear, and pain is the drug that takes away pain._

"I understand. I mean, it's different for everyone, but."

"You...?" His eyes widened.

"Hey," Kadja interrupted. "You two weirdos take your time. Catch up with me, okay, kiddo?" He clapped Bel on the shoulder and waded on downstream.

 

"There's more," he admitted. He turned around and heard her take in a soft breath. She ran her fingers over the long, intersecting pink lines. She took a few steps back to take in the whole, and up again to caress the smooth, well-healed edges of the scars.

"These were flayed?"

"Not exactly. He had a whole process."

"He really knew what he was doing."

"The best. Skilled in a lot of ways. More important ways than this. He was a good guy. And a good friend."

He realized he was talking too much. Not just showing off Poe's distinctive markings, but talking about Rold Hjerjen, who was in some ways even more notorious as a defector. He stepped back down.

"Can I see yours?"

He was expecting something small and tattoo-like, some initials or a unit designation, maybe a name or two. But she waded to the edge of the pool and turned; he gasped the same way she had. Parallel lines were stacked like books down the side of her thigh. They were different lengths and thicknesses. Some were thin little lines or clusters of them, some were carefully flayed, but others were rough and messy, like they'd been slashed and re-slashed. Most were pigmented. She turned; there was another stack on the other leg.

From a distance the overall effect was almost elegant. But up close, the messier lines were prominent. They looked like they'd fucking hurt. He knelt beside her and looked up, asking to touch; she nodded. He skimmed from her hip down her thigh, over the ridges of flesh. His fingers swerved to avoid that spot, just above her knee. There was a pressure point there; they'd used it in SERE and he'd been subconsciously protective of it ever since, maintaining a force field between his tender nerves and crates and toolboxes of a certain height. The thought of cutting himself there made his stomach knot.

 

He rose and took her hand and led them both back into the warm water, covering their bodies again.

"What do they mean?" Like he needed to ask; they were clearly people she'd lost.

"People. Mostly comrades."

"I'm sorry."

"Some of them were mine. My pilots."

_Oh fucking Force, no._

"Your -" His lips pressed together, but he couldn't even say the word. "You were a, a."

"I flew Y-wings. I mean, I flew anything they needed me to, but I spent most of my time in Y-wings."

"And you were a sssquadron? Leader?"

"At Jakku, yeah. Shouldn't have been in any kind of command. But. I was next in line."

"Shit."

"Lost a lot of good people there."

"You can't control everything, Danice. It all happens so fast, and that was a  _complex_  fucking battle, and, we won. I mean, you won. You won the battle and that was the battle that won the war. You -" he stopped, he was tearing up again.

" _Thank you_. I mean it." He put his hand over his heart. "Thank you."

 

He was talking  _way_  too much. Maybe there really was something in the water, after all. He tried to think of what a  _normal_  person would say.

 

"Ssome of those. It looks like you've gone over them a few times."

"Those are the ones that were mine."

"Oh, Danice. I'm sorry."

    _Of course they were._

"What about the colors - what is that from?"

"Various pigments. Most of them are perfectly safe."

"Most?"

She shrugged.

_Fucking pilots._

"What do they mean?"

"Their presences. In the Force."

He took a step back without even realizing it.

"You're Fforce-sensitive?"

"A little. I can see things. I can't, like, lift rocks with my mind or walk on ceilings or anything."

"Bbut you can ssee people? Like, insside people?" He realized he had taken several steps back. That probably didn't look good. It probably looked like he had something to hide. What he wanted was to run.

"I can't  _read their minds_ , if that's what you mean.

"That is. What I mean."

"It's more like seeing their hearts."

_That's not much better._

"Are you, um. Seeing me?"

"A little. It's clearer when we're closer. And if I'm trying."

"You're not trying now?"

She shook her head.

"Would you like me to?"

"No. Please."

 

What the fuck would a normal person say, here? A  _civilian_? A  _lightsider_?

"Was that, um, useful? When you were flying?"

"Well, I still fly. Commercial. I pity the public safety officer that has to try to pry the yoke outta these hands."

"I bet. You must really - really love it."

"I do. But this aspect of the Force doesn't help much. Now, being able to set a wounded plane down with my mind like Skywalker.  _That_  woulda been useful."

He laughed a little, and choked on it. "I imagine it would."

She was looking at him like that again.

"But I don't think I'd want any kind of kinetic powers. Too much responsibility."

"Mm."

"Too much liability."

"Right."

"I wouldn't want to to be ...  _tempted_."

His eyes widened.

"I thought you said you weren't looking," he whispered.

"I'm not trying, son. But I can't not see it."

"I'm sorry! I'm not - I'm not."

_I'm not evil. I just want to go somewhere where I can't fuck up any worse._

"Come here, Bel?"

He didn't want to, but his feet waded back to her, even as his shoulders cringed away. She looked to him for consent. What were they gonna do, kick him out? He wasn't supposed to be here anyway. He nodded, reluctantly.

"It won't hurt."

"I know."

She pulled him close and pressed their foreheads together.

"You're golden," she murmured.

"No. No - maybe I was, once, but. No."

"You are. Your light is warm and golden; it's beautiful. But it's hidden, it's buried, it's ... clothed, sort of. In blackness, like ... clouds, but flat. Like a hide, but in pieces. Like -" She made a low, pained, whining sound. "Like... leather... armor. But there are gaps, cracks, where the light gets out, where you still shine."

_Poe used to shine._

"Please," he whispered. "Don't tell anyone? Please?"

"I won't. Of course. But listen. You know that darkness isn't always the same as evil, right?"

"Yes. Yes, I know that. I don't think I'm evil."

"Your heart is still there. You can still find your way to it. To the light at the center of you."

It hurt, the yawning ache in his chest that was becoming so familiar. And he didn't know if it was because he wanted to believe her, or because he couldn't.

"Maybe. I don't know." He squeezed her hands. "Thank you, Danice." 

"You can, Bel." She looked at him sadly. "You go find Kadja before he falls asleep in the water."

"Okay. Thank you."

 

He turned to go, and the sun had sunk deeper, it was glowing red through particulates in the atmosphere: dust from the plains and from mining, emissions from grandfathered industries. It was Socor setting, but for a moment it could have been Ileenium.

 

Kadja did, in fact, look half-asleep, reclining back against the rocky edge of the spring. He looked up at the sound of sloshing footsteps.

"Hey. I'm sorry; I feel like I was gone a long time."

"No worries. Don't see work like that too often. Figured you two must have  _something_  in common."

_Something. Yeah._

"Well, I didn't mean to leave you alone for so long."

"Ah. Me," the older vet sighed. "My wounds aren't as fresh as yours."

"How do you know!"

What, was he just an open book to  _all_  these people?

"Well, you did tell us you were here playing hooky from a funeral."

    _Oh. Right._  

"Psh. I could care less about Farran fucking Ota."

"It's okay, you know. To feel a loss. Even if he was misguided, even if he hurt you, even if he was a bad person."

"No. Seriously. Fuck that guy." He scowled into the water.

"So ... is there ... someone else?"

His eyes pressed closed, he breathed in the steam of the springs. He just wanted to  _talk_. He shouldn't be talking; it was the last thing he should be doing, but he just needed to - 

"Yeah."

Kadja took his hand.

"Tell me about them?"

He took a deep breath.

"He was ... everything I'm not."

Tears trickled out again, but it was okay, here.

"He was brave and loyal and good and  _dedicated_."

 

So full of light, so full of joy and love.

And darkness, too. It had always been there. But it had been so  _small_.

And now it was everything.

And it had happened so  _fast_.

 

"Dedicated?"

"Yeah. To the people he loved, to the people he admired."

He pulled in a stuttering breath.

"To the New Republic, for a long time. It's so  _strange_  being here with all of you, because he would have loved this. He was kind of a civil war nerd, could cite all these names and campaigns and strategies. Maybe erred on the side of hero worship sometimes. He woulda kept you up all night asking questions."

It was okay to cry, here. It was okay.

"And what happened?"

"He," he cleared his throat. "He was a - a soldier. Like you. And, he saw what's going on out there. Said he couldn't-"

His throat tightened, but he had to get it out. It seemed  _really important_ to tell someone about Poe.

"It wasn't even an option for him. Not to try to stop them. He couldn't even conceive of just letting it happen all over again."

"The First Order, you mean?"

"Yeah. He was a victory baby, you know, and he always took his freedom real... personally. Someone told him once he wore it, like some kinda robe or crown or something. He wanted everyone to see it. He was so...  _grateful._ "

He sobbed, and Kadja pulled him in, onto his shoulder, and he wept, hard and helpless.

 

When he'd stopped shaking and caught his breath, the older vet spoke again, gently.

"So, what did he do?"

"What I shoulda done. If I was a better person."

"Do you mean," and even though no one could hear them, his voice dropped reflexively to a whisper, "he went with the _senator_?"

The person on Kadja's shoulder was ambushed by the round of racking sobs that single word pulled out of him; he was choking on them. He pulled away from his buddy and a little out of the water, seeking fresher air. 

 

Eventually he could breathe again. He remembered that he was a person, in a place, with another person.

"Sorry," he whispered.

"I'm so sorry, son," the person said. "What was his name?"

His face crushed miserably, it wasn't  _fair._ He shook his head and sucked in another shaky breath.

"He should be remembered."

"He will be. Someday. I'm sure of it. Unless they win, and then ... "

"And then, none of us will be remembered."

They shivered and slid deeper into the warm water as the clouds of  _that_  dark future rolled in. 

 

His very existence was some kind of injustice. On top of everything else Poe had given of himself, he'd kept  _him_  alive, too. He didn't know why. Why a fucking hero like that would keep a, a, a... his thoughts bumped up against a hard, smooth surface. It was wide and glossy and sort of bean-shaped. He felt around it, but found no seam, no purchase, no flaw. Locked inside it were the words he was looking for.  _Traitor. Slut. Murderer. Coward._   But there was no way into it; they were inaccessible to him.

After a while he gave up and lay his head back against the rocks. He realized he might be a little stoned.

 

He supposed he'd done things for Poe, too. Eased his pain countless times. Lulled him to sleep on what would otherwise have been sleepless nights. On the  _Finalizer_ , Poe had said he was going to miss him. And then he'd done what he needed to do to get him out of there.

A little sob squeaked out, and the being next to him reached out an absentminded hand to hold.

He'd given Poe a reason to live when he was so ready to die for everything else. So, in a way, he'd kept Poe alive, too.

 _You still are_ , something whispered. He shook his head, but he didn't swat the thought away immediately. He could kind of see it, see Poe curled up, cocooned safe in his breast, blanketed in golden warmth, hidden behind black armor. When the end came, he might not even feel it.

 

There were cracks, she'd said, and that wasn't right; Poe deserved better. Even if he'd known how it would be, even if he'd willingly walked toward it.

It hadn't really even started yet, the tide of filth that would suck him under and drown him. It wasn't even seeping around his toes yet. But soon it would be crawling up his body, cold and viscous, flotsam swirling between his thighs, teeth and tusks and snouts and claws. Poe didn't deserve any of it.

He thrust the armor-clad cocoon under the surface of the spring and held it there. He felt the leather soften and expand and seal up tight. At the last glimmer of light, regret pierced his heart like a dagger.

It hurt, it hurt so much.

He pulled the thing to his chest, felt it drying and hardening in the air. And then to his cheek, to weep onto, to leave salt-stained. To kiss, wet and tender and sad.

He could see the little pod, watertight and inconspicuous, bobbing in the filth along with the rest of the trash, among the teeth and tusks and snouts and claws. No one would even notice it there, and anyone who did would never guess that within the hard, filthy surface was something soft and warm and light.

 

At some point his tears had slowed, and they weren't for Poe, specifically, anymore, but for the sheer loneliness of being alive; it was fucking agony. Why did it have to hurt so much,  _why do we have to be so alone?_

_And why does it have to be so short?_

He knew that the Force surrounds us and binds us together. But it didn't seem to make anyone's experience any less singular.

He would always be alone, and would eventually be forgotten. Just like every other blessed being that had ever gasped into the confusion of existence, only to be dragged out of it again, in fear or pain or in mourning for itself.

Knowing that he would return into the Force as pure energy was small comfort, when he wouldn't even be alive to feel it when it happened. Faith was just enough solace to keep him from being paralyzed by constant, unending heartache and dread in every waking moment.

It had all gone so fast! And there was so little of it left. 

And he hardly even knew himself, let alone the improbable blessing of knowing anyone else.

 

How? How could he be golden, like the sunrise, when every moment was a shadow in the bloody sunset?

He realized he was looking for it, for the real sunset, but it was long gone; there was nothing but a faint blush in the deepening sky.

Was Ileenium one of the stars winking into the night? It was certainly visible from here, but he didn't know where it was. Poe would have known.

 

He saw the fading embers of his soul, pale as if washed out by red light, like during an air raid. Like the veil that had half-blinded him on the  _Finalizer_. 

Dying, golden embers, writhing with black as they were consumed, as the spent parts of him puffed away and new layers were exposed and consumed, exposed and consumed.

Maybe he wasn't like the sun at all. Maybe he was like the moon behind the clouds. Cloaked and dim, not visible directly but approximated by the light that escaped in the spaces between. It was a pretty thought, mesmerizing even.

Everything else faded away, all the grief and pain and loneliness; in all of existence there were only the shifting clouds and the tantalizing promise of the golden light of the moon behind them.

 

At some point he realized he was actually looking at the actual cloud-shaded moonrise.

It was hilarious, then, that he was so intoxicated, so suggestible. He was more than just stoned, he realized. He was fucking tripping. 

He laughed at himself. On the inside. On the outside, there was the barest twitch of a smile, the faintest wrinkle at the corner of his eye. Anyone looking would have seen only a naked human, partially submerged, slack in his jaw and peace in the wide black pools of his eyes, dozing in the moonlight.

 

But of course, no one saw. Everyone around him was likewise still and silent, lost in the solitude of their own souls.

 

* * *

 

 


	6. Blackrock Springs

* * *

 

A tender, itchy feeling around his eyes and a looseness in his spine told him he'd been on one hell of a crying jag. He remembered his body steaming into the cool night air, and stepping clothed but barefoot onto the land bus. He closed his eyes again and felt the ship banking towards their next destination.

They were visiting a bird sanctuary in the morning, and springs in the afternoon that bestowed "youth and vitality." And again they would be in remote areas, with no easy way for him to slip away from the cruise. The thing was, he really enjoyed the company of the  ~~other~~  vets. But he was afraid of what else he might hear; it had only been a day and already conversations had come far too close for comfort. He still planned to run at the first opportunity.

...

They went out before dawn, thermoses in hand, to a viewing platform above shallow mud flats. Dew-soaked and muddy at night, they teemed with insects. By afternoon they would be dry and cracked, the critters burrowed away from the touch of the sun. At dawn there was a feeding frenzy as dozens of species of birds awoke and seemingly decimated the flats. 

Bel was a helpful young man, carrying quadnocs and thermoses and offering his rakish new leather jacket for an elderly Culisetto couple to rest their fraying carapaces on. Because his jacket was occupied, Min offered to share her shawl with him. After trading a few jokes with Horace about dueling for her attention, he accepted and snuggled her up under his arm in the chilly predawn.

She asked how he was feeling after last night. He told her truthfully that he felt better, much better, but he didn't elaborate.

...

 

Not far from the flats was an avian rehabilitation center, where they could see some of the shyest and loveliest specimens up close. The birds were cool, but the guide spent nearly as much time gushing over Governor Calrissian's largess, which funded the center, as he did on the creatures themselves.

Now, Lando was a hero to everyone present, but the gushing was a bit much. It was hard to keep a straight face. He caught Ulon smirking across an aviary and grinned back. He felt rather transparent as they migrated toward one another on one of the paths and their shoulders bumped together casually.

Ulon worried that walking together was  _dangerous_. He was sure Bel was going to say something to make him laugh out loud at the guide. Bel warmed at the compliment. He mimed swiping a keychip past his lips, and then, in an inspired move that impressed himself, took Ulon's hand and placed the imaginary key in his palm. He blushed a little as he met his eyes, which had definitely widened a degree or two.

And then he had to look away and focus all of his attention on the lava dipper exhibit in front of them. Because the thought of Ulon wielding that imaginary power against him was just too fucking hot.

    _Too hot for words, one might say._

And then:

    _Well. This is new._

Because Poe Dameron never got off on keeping his mouth shut. If there were two words that had described his sex life - well, his adult sex life - they were  _loud_  and  _proud_.

Sure, he'd let people gag him before, but it had been  _torture._  Okay, maybe not torture, but a challenge, something to earn his way out of, not something that brought pleasure in itself.

He floated along the path with his heart buzzing like a sun-drunk tank moth, or like one of those ancient pre-repulsor rotary-wing airships.

    _There you go. Think about that_.

(He'd never quite been able to get his head around it. He understood that each blade was an airfoil. And that the twin or quad rotors canceled out torque. In theory. But also that countless pioneering adventurers had died testing the theory.)

It was a good distraction. It kept his mind off this novel erotic mess he'd just created for himself. And he wasn't even sure if Ulon thought it was hot, too, or just thought he was weird, or maybe had just taken the interaction as a little joke he'd already forgotten.

Until they drew up at a warbler aviary. The guide called the various species out with recorded calls. A bright blue bird flitted up to meet the first call.

"So pretty," Ulon murmured  _very_  quietly in his ear. "But I don't know what to call it. Cyan? Aqua? I don't know how I would describe that to, say, an artificial intelligence." 

    _100, 200, 250_.

And then a red one.

"I'm just at a loss for words. Scarlet, maybe?"

    _250, 25, 25_.

An iridescent gray bird came to the next call.

"Really, I'm just a dumb jock. I don't know what makes all those pretty colors."

     _Iridescence can be a phenomenon of reflection or of diffraction._

"I think you're right. Some things are just too beautiful for words."

    _Am I one of them? Tell me you meant I'm one of them_.

He was feeling distinctly floaty - and then, suddenly, like a scutjumper in a spotlight when a couple he hadn't met yet turned to wait for them to catch up, apparently to chat. But Ulon was smooth; he tapped at his elbow and whispered  _code override_.

And just like that, all the erotic heat dissipated, and they laughed because suddenly it seemed like one of those children's games, the logic of which eludes adults. Like something they were hiding because it was silly, and not because it was sexy.

...

The finale of the tour was an audience with a parrot-hawk named Hek, a large, semi-sentient raptor. She was a glorious being, a living rainbow with four claws, piercing eyes, and a small Basic vocabulary. The guide faded to the back and let Hek's trainer introduce her.

She'd been wounded in a collision with a landspeeder:

< _Bad speeder. Too fast_. >

But the drivers had brought her to the center:

< _Try help. Very sad_. >

During her recovery, she'd kept herself occupied with meeting new beings, like themselves.

< _Many walks. Many faces_. >

What did the audience want to know, the trainer asked.

"I've never met a parrot-hawk before," someone said, "and I want you to know you are the most beautiful creature I've ever met."

< _I thank. Normal hawk_. >

"Do you think there should be some kind of speed limits," another asked, "to avoid these sorts of accidents?"

< _Few speeder. Big land._ >

When the group seemed reluctant to pry, Hek turned the tables, addressing individuals and couples.

< _Red hair! Like feather_. >

She stretched a wing to show a patch of red at her elbow. She went on, addressing the sentients with her limited vocabulary.

< _Big eyes_! >

She nodded to the Sullustan couple.

< _Pretty eyes. Very pretty_. >

They nodded shyly and giggled a little.

< _Big food_! >

She was nodding her head at Goldenrule, the Culisetto couple he'd lent his jacket to earlier. The trainer blushed and and tutted at her, but Goldenrule just critched in laughter.

< _Big food! What eat_? >

"Sometimes we eat little birds," one of them confessed.

The trainer blushed even harder, but Hek agreed:

< _Small bird good food_. >

He could picture her swooping and gliding under the sun, diving after  _small bird good food_  and plucking them out of the air. She should be out there, he thought. She was made for better things than just looking pretty and entertaining tourists.

He supposed it was better than starving to death, wounded and flightless out in the black rock desert. And parrot-hawks were, Ulon's guidebook said, very sociable creatures; she was happier interacting with all these strangers than being alone with just her trainers. But still. She was a magnificent creature, and it just didn't seem right for her to be on display like this.

It wasn't wrong, exactly. But it didn't seem quite... fair.

 

< _Pretty hair_! >

Ulon nudged him.

"What, me?"

< _Pretty hair! Bad ears_. >

"No, no, I was just thinking. I'm sorry if this is rude to ask, but - do you think you'll ever fly again?"

< _I fly. Fly short_. >

"You can fly! Oh, that's awesome."

Happy murmurs went around the room. The trainer stepped up to apologize, but there wouldn't be any flying demonstration today. Hek's flight-seconds were still limited to a carefully controlled environment.

< _Fly short. More later. Good help. I thank_. >

"I'm sure you will..." He was misting up again, but Hek was on to someone else.

< _Long neck! Swim good_? >

* * *

 

The kybucks gravitated together after the demonstration to negotiate their afternoon. Bunny and Tana were heading out to Blackrock Springs right away to beat the crowd. Shike was going for a run and Ulon seemed on the verge of joining him. Did Bel want to come for a run? 

No, no he did not.

"I'd _love to,_ but I can't. I only have a few other clothes with me, and they're kind of, um. Satin-y."

"Satin-y?" Tana and her eyebrow asked.

"Like, you know, clubby." And here  _clubby_  was definitely a euphemism for  _slutty_.

"Oh really."

"Yeah. This was kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing. I wasn't really packed for it."

"Well. I guess we get to see that tomorrow, huh?"

"What do you mean?"

"After the airstrip museum. There's a dance party, with another ship."

"Oh. Great."

"I have clothes," Ulon offered. "You can borrow something."

It was Bel's turn to let his eyebrows ask the questions, while his eyes measured the man's svelte waist and hips.

"PTs," Ulon clarified. "Stretchy. Loose fitting."

He smirked and squeezed his own hips appreciatively. "Do you have size 28 trainers?"

"Oh. No."

"Well, that's too bad. Gonna have to go all by myself and just - watch these dykes make out, I guess," he sighed.

Shike laughed and patted Ulon on the shoulder. "I'll ask around for 28's. You go have fun." He turned away without giving either of them a chance to object.

"Okay..." Ulon looked really torn between running and going to the springs. Which might have been discouraging, but he knew how it was. Not _personally_ , hell. But he'd known plenty of runners. Fucking addicts, some of them.

He bit back a comment about other ways to get cardio, but he met Tana's eye and saw she was thinking the same thing. Even Bunny was in, promising Ulon a run later if he really needed it. He wondered if she was just confident with the warning she'd issued, or she and Tana had  _discussed_  him.

He imagined the two of them talking in bed, Tana making her case with bright enthusiasm, and Bunny grudgingly agreeing that a brief, no-strings vaca fling might be good for their friend. He hoped they were right.

* * *

 

At Blackrock Springs, he interrogated them a bit about themselves and the group. It had started with a couple dozen vets getting together every year to see and appreciate the galaxy they had helped to liberate. Over the years, they had married, mostly other vets, and some of those had their own reunion groups, and gradually they merged and grew to the point that they considered themselves a large, extended family of sorts.

Ulon had joined the rebellion as a teenager. For all he'd hated and resented the Empire, he'd joined partly so his family would have one less mouth to feed. Tana had taken him under her wing the moment they met, thirty-four years ago, and had been his big sister and best friend ever since. Their unit had been a highly mobile one. They weren't pathfinders, but they might as well have been, they boasted.

And after the war?

Bunny, who'd gotten her nickname as an armament technician, went back to civilian manufacturing. Tana stayed in and was a marksmanship instructor in the NRDF, although she had recently gone to part-time.  _Semi-retired_.

And Ulon? He'd stayed in too, in the infantry. He'd eventually become a drill instructor.

Bel's eyes widened. That's the _last_ thing he would have guessed. He just seemed so funny and easy-going and a little nerdy. Maybe it was because he was the youngest of the scum. And he was small; his body was hard as a rock, but he wasn't  _big_. That probably added to his persona as the baby in the family. Bel wondered what he was like outside of this context. He just couldn't picture the guy barking at recruits.

"Do you think I could hear your drill instructor voice sometime?"

"It's pretty loud," Ulon admitted, so mildly that it was ridiculously endearing. "And I'm outta practice."

"Wait, tell me  _you're_  not retired already!"

"No," he chuckled sadly. "I took a cycle off after Kirst died and just never went back. They let me out on a reserve basis. I got kinda depressed about never having had kids, so I went into education. PT, coaching, that kinda stuff."

"Like, little kids?"

"At first. But it was rough. Emotionally. When a coaching spot opened at the academy, I jumped at it. That's what I do now."

"The, uh. The which?"

"The Defense Academy. Main campus, Hosnian Prime."

"No shit. Wow."

    _How. Is this fucking possible._

"And how long have you, uh."

"Couple years now. I love it. I'll stay there as long as they'll have me."

    _Couple years. Okay. Okay. Okay_.

"What's up, kid," Tana asked. "You look like you seen a ghost."

"Haha. It's funny. I um. Had a gig there once. I um. Kinda dated a cadet for a bit."

The women cackled, and Bel recovered his equilibrium.

"Before your time," he assured Ulon. "Way before your time."

"What was their name?"

"Well, I can either tell you his name, or tell you how we used to play Inspection, but not both."

Ulon blinked dumbly, and the women fell beside themselves.

"Most of the time it was room inspection. My crappy little weekly rental wasn't much bigger than a dorm, he said. He'd come over and make me stand at attention while he pointed out everything that was dirty or out of place."

Tana screeched with laughter, Bunny buried her face in her hands, and Ulon continued blinking.

"Ahm."

"Are you asking if there were  _penalties_?"

"Um."

" _Punishments_?"

"Uh."

"Hell yeah, there were," he nodded, brandishing a very toothy grin.

"Ahm. You know, um, instructors aren't allowed to strike cadets."

"Pretty sure they're not allowed to  _bang_  them, either. It wasn't a perfect simulation."

"Mm," Ulon nodded, and it came out rather high-pitched.

"Wait, wait," Tana asked, "You said  _most of the time_? What was it the other times?"

"Well, it wasn't  _arms_  inspection," he smirked.

"Oh, gross," Bunny complained.

(He hadn't thought about Marlen Toller in ages. He'd thought about him a lot, right after defecting. Everyone had known he was going to be an admiral someday. He'd be thirty-four now. Hopefully he'd end up on the right side of the coming conflict.)

"That's enough about that," Bunny said, "or Lonnie's gonna have a heart attack and I'm gonna puke in this lovely spring."

    _There ya go. Close this fucking topic._

"No, don't puke, honey," Tana cooed. They grinned at one another, and drew close, and kissed. Between mutters about men being gross, they kissed, and kissed some more.

 

Bel nodded at them, nudging his eyebrows higher until he got his message across:  _Looks like fun. Wanna try it_?

Ulon nodded and slipped his hand around his rib cage, fingertips pressing from behind, pulling closer. Their lips had barely touched when Tana whistled from the other side of the pool, and Ulon ducked, embarrassed. Bel shot her a dirty look and floated up from the rock he'd been sitting on and straddled Ulon's knees.

"Don't look at them. Look at me." He smoldered down for a moment, and then slid forward, bringing their bodies together. He felt his balls, semi-buoyant in the water, settle gently into Ulon's lap, and pulled him up into a proper kiss.

It was delightful; it was just what he would have expected if he'd expected anything. Ulon's lips were firm and tight and a little cool, and did a thorough recon of his own before pressing forward, tugging here and pushing there, like a guerrilla unit moving in friendly if unfamiliar territory.

It wasn't warm and overwhelming; it wasn't hot and desperate. It was the opposite of messy; it was  _precise_.

Like drill and ceremony.

Like arms inspection, he thought, his smile breaking the kiss a little.

In fact, he was beginning to  _present arms_  himself. And it wasn't just him; he felt Ulon's erection starting to poke against his thigh.

"Sorry," Ulon muttered.

Not quietly enough; Tana snickered from across the pool. And again, the familiar brand of teasing was so comfortable, it was easy to forget he was a stranger. He turned and glared at her as if she were a trusted squadmate.

" _Whatt?_ "

"Did that  _sorry_  mean what I think it means?"

"Yes," Ulon answered, "it means  _sorry my girlfriend is such a nosy biyotch_."

"Yuck. You leave my nose out of that."

"Really," Bel retorted, "because for a lesbian, you sure have _dick_  on the brain."

"That's what happens when you don't get it for twenty years," Ulon added. Bunny winced and maintained her attitude of being quietly aggrieved, and he gaped at her like,  _yeah, I said that, come at me_.

"And how long has it been for  _you_ , kiddo?" Tana sassed.

He tilted his head back and sighed, and Bel assumed he was ignoring her, until his eyes opened a moment later.

"Twenty-six years."

Bel was intrigued, but the women were shocked, shouting in surprise  _whoa, whoa, hold up, you got some explaining to do_. He turned, out of the line of fire. 

"The right answer to that is at least  _thirty_  years."

"So help me, buddy, if you tell me something I don't wanna hear..."

"Kriffing hell, no, are you kidding?" He sounded genuinely offended.

"So she knew about it?"

"Of course she did, she was there!"

And with those last three words, their outrage turned to salacious intrigue.

"What! With who?!"

"I thought you knew."

"Knew  _what_ ," Tana pleaded.

"That Kirst and I. Had a little thing for a while. With, uh, with Quirit Evers."

"With  _Major_  Evers???"

"Yeah. How did you not know?"

They were gaping wordlessly, so Bel asked who Major Evers was.

"Our  _commanding officer_!" Tana cried.

"Not  _at the time_! Kriff, you all are just  _looking_  for a scandal!"

"Says the guy with a scandal sitting in his lap!"

"I'm  _right here_ ," Bel protested. "I can hear you."

(For a moment he could picture future scum cruises, the kybucks teasing Ulon about that kid he hooked up with on Socorro,  _what was his name_. And for an even briefer moment he almost wished he could be there to see it, that his body wouldn't be rotting in a shallow grave behind some backwater cantina.)

"Honestly, I thought you guys knew."

"I would  _not_  have forgotten that, honey."

They were still shaking their heads, so Bel stepped up to break the tension.

"So twenty-six years ago, you were twenty-five?"

"Yeah."

"And how old was he?"

"Um. Forty-something."

"Uh-huh. And was he hot?"

"I mean, yeah."

Bel smiled and reclined on his arms, radiating smugness.

"I see. I see how it is."

"But that wasn't. Wasn't what it was about."

"Mm-hm. So did he ever, like, order you around in bed?"

"No," Ulon shook his head. "It wasn't like that at all. He was really a - a gentle soul." He blinked, looking a bit misty.

    _Aw, I was just kidding_.

"He never even wanted to fight."

    _Of course not. The good ones never do_.

"He got outta the field, like, right after they signed the concordance. He only stayed in those last couple years to help with the transition, retired as soon as his part in that was done."

"What was his part in it?"

Bunny snorted. "Yeah, tell Scandal, here, what Evers did in the transition."

"He," and then Ulon laughed, and wiped his eyes. "Oh, Force, Bunny, I can't."

She looked at Bel and said flatly, "He was on the commission that wrote the Code of Conduct. For the NRDF."

"Nooo! Wait, so you're telling me-"

"He was  _retired_. When we. Oh gods, I guess this is why we never talked about it. Fuck."

"I believe you," Tana squeaked, "but still, holy stars, that is fucking hilarious."

"Completely retired. One hundred percent. Out."

"I know."

"No, I mean it." He suddenly turned severe; Bel thought he maybe saw a glimpse of what he'd been like as a drill instuctor. "This is important. He was one of the most courageous people I've ever known, and the most ethical, and honest. That's why they asked him. He would never in a million fucking years take advantage of his subordinates. You need to tell me that you understand that."

 _Yes, I understand, of course_ , they assured him.

He hooked Ulon's fingers under the water and squeezed.

"So, I just wanna be sure I got this straight. You're telling me that the guy that wrote the NRDF Code of Conduct-"

"Cowrote."

"Cowrote the NRDF Code of Conduct. Was not. Definitely  _not_. Banging two of his subordinates. At the time."

"Exactly."

"Huh."

* * *

    

[At nineteen, he couldn't be as loud as he wanted to be. The once or twice a month that their liberties coincided, they could only afford the diviest of hotels, and the walls were thin.

He _wanted_ to scream his bloody lungs out while Marlen pounded him, while his fingers wrung bruises from his wrists, while they blossomed between his teeth. 

But he had to settle for having his face shoved hard into a pillow while he did his best to suppress his moans, and only one of his arms pinned painfully behind his back. On the other arm it was  _his_  fingers wrapped around the other's wrist, a kind of dead-man signal in case he panicked or started to pass out.

Nor could he be as proud as he felt in private, when he ran his fingers over bruises left in those carefully delineated zones he could plausibly hide from even his roommate. He pressed his thumbs into them and fantasized about being able to wear them on his arms, around his wrists, on his neck, even. 

It wasn't his career stopping him; he was going to be a fighter pilot, after all, and there were certain stereotypes to live up to about thrill-seeking adrenaline junkies with insufficient respect for pain.

No, the thing was, was that it shouldn't be  _normal_ for people to walk around like that. The thought of his pride giving cover to someone else's abuse was simply unacceptable, even if it didn't seem fair. Having to hide it - having to act like he was ashamed - seemed kind of a shameful thing in itself. But. He chewed it over sometimes, and could come to no other conclusion, at least for now.

Marlen had less to chew over. He came from a long line of career officers, and expected no less of himself. It meant earning the trust and the respect of his peers. Confident and even-tempered as he was, he knew that he would inevitably make mistakes, ones that would hurt people. He couldn't have people whispering behind his back, _he's a sadist, you know_.

When Poe fantasized about being open, someday, he meant years from now. If Marlen ever thought the same thing, he meant decades from now.

...

"That's fucking bullshit."

"It's just a review panel. Probably nothing will come of it. And to be honest, I probably could have handled it better."

 

 

Marlen had broken up some kind of crime in progress. The rumor was some kind of hazing, but he wasn't sharing any details until after he testified at  _that_  hearing, at which the perpetrators were widely expected to be expelled.

In the meanwhile, he was being reviewed for assault. The court of public opinion was certain that he'd only done his duty as a cadet and as a decent being, but it still had to be formally reviewed.

Any hint, any rumor of the thrilling new dynamics he and Poe were working out in private could only harm his case.

"Can I do anything? Do you need character witnesses?"

"I've got some. Gondra's gonna testify, and Jet Wistin and Callipha."

They were all among a handful of cadets already recognized as leaders. There seemed to be a couple in every class. Poe, as a sophomore, was beginning to be recognized as one himself. Or rather he _had_ been; he was just beginning to realize it.

"Won't it be suspicious if I don't?"

"You can't. You know you can't. We'd have to disclose that we're in a relationship."

He knew why, but it still stung. Like Marlen was ashamed of him.

"And then they'd ask  _questions,_ " he added quickly, watching Poe's jaw tighten, looking away from the pink blush in the tops of his ears that his cadet buzzcut did nothing to hide.

"It's not relevant. It's none of their business."

"Counsellor Hodj told Callipha the first thing they'd ask is if I ever  _hit_  her."

"They mean in _anger_. They want to know about your temper."

"It doesn't matter. You're not going to lie, and you are definitely not going to try to explain."

(Hell, they were still figuring out how to explain to one another. So much of their time together was made up of blushing confessions, painstaking negotiations, the meticulous parsing of consent.

Sometimes he thought Marlen shouldn't be a field officer, he should be a fucking lawyer. But he was right and Poe knew it, knew they needed to learn how to do this. So. He put his heart into it. But sometimes it was fucking tedious.)

 

"It's just. I feel like, like people will think I'm endorsing the charges or something. Not having your back."

Marlen looked pained.

"Please, Poe. I'm so sorry. Maybe in a few weeks, after this all blows over. We can, you know. Tell people we're going out. I mean, not anything private, but."

"I just. I want to help. I don't want to see you get suspended for doing the right thing."

"You are helping. And I'm probably not going to be suspended. But if I am, it won't be for doing the right thing. It'll be for violating the Code of Conduct."

"It should be the same thing!"

"Most of the time they are. But when they're at odds - that's what the adjudication process is for."

Poe smiled fondly at him, despite his frustration. Plenty of their peers might be so level-headed in his place, might gamely allow that  _that's what the hearing is for_  or  _that's what the panel is for_. But only future-admiral Toller would, at twenty-one, profess his faith in  _adjudication_.]

 

* * *

 


	7. Fancy Bird Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ulon is determined to get a nice run in before dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for very brief and vague thoughts that are not _exactly_ incestuous, but close enough to be icky (don't worry, it's icky for him, too)

* * *

 

"So are you wearing something, uh, clubby to this fancy dinner tonight?"

"What fancy dinner tonight?"

"The bird thing?"

"I have no knowledge of this."

"It's on the itinerary. They should have sent it to your comm."

He hadn't even bought one until he got to Vakeyya, having left Naboo without a trace. (For the same reason, he'd also made the hop with a fistful of 10K credit sticks stuffed uncomfortably into his boots, and other places.) The sturdy, wrist-sized piece had only two features on it: a galactic atlas, and access to the account he'd set up in Tarbel's name. There was a comm address associated with it, but he hadn't activated it and didn't plan to.

"I dunno, guess I missed it. Show me?"

Ulon thumbed through his pad until he found it:

"Traditional something, endangered something, Lando is the saviour of all the birds. Here," he handed it to Bel.

_Sustainable feast, styled upon Old Republic foodways of the Blackrock region... habitat restoration efforts funded by the Calrissian Foundation... performance of the traditional game blessing in full costume..._

Good gods, they'd gotten up before dawn. Was this what passed for _leisure_? He skimmed to the bottom: _Suggested Attire: dinner casual._

"So, I don't need a suit? 'Cause I don't have one."

"Just a nice shirt, I think?"

"Probably something with _sleeves_ , though."

"Yeah. They probably want to see sleeves." Ulon looked him over. "You might just squeeze into one of my tunics."

He was lean, but he had nice shoulders and had clearly spent a lifetime working on them.

"Thanks. You're a lifesaver."

Ulon smiled, the same sweet, open smile he'd offered when they first met. "Lemme get my fix in first. Since y'all hijacked me earlier."

He pulled out two sets of the familiar gray NRDF PT uniform.

"Here, take these. Keep 'em, if you want, to sleep in or whatever. I literally have a lifetime supply of them."

"Thanks, man."

He handed Bel one of the piles of gym clothes, his cue to leave. Instead he leaned against the bulkhead, grinning and ogling and nodding at the other pile of clothes.

"What, you wanna watch? Didn't get enough at the springs?"

He changed quickly, without showing off. He smirked a little at the clear disappointment on Bel's face.

"I'll come find you in about an hour for a fashion show."

"An _hour_? How far are you going?"

He rolled his eyes and sighed. "Tana forbids me taking stats on vacation."

"And you don't like that."

"Not one bit. But it won't be far. I'll come get you after I clean up."

"Oh, you don't have to do that for me."

"Sure I do. Gotta do it for supper anyway."

"Yeah, but I bet you smell really good after a run."

"Okay then!" Ulon wiped his brow dramatically. "Let's go while I can still get out of here with my _dignity_ intact." He tugged at the loose-fitting shorts and clapped Bel's shoulder, steering him toward the hatch.

But the lonely, dissolute young man that had chosen him for this particular adventure leaned into his touch, bringing his lips close to his ear and murmuring, "I mean, I bet your _balls_ smell really good, after you've worked up a sweat."

Ulon froze, and swore under his breath. He wrestled with his impulses for only a second before making a decision.

"Fine. _You stay here_ ," he ordered. There was authority in his voice, but also a bit of worry in his eyes, as if he thought maybe _he_ were the one overstepping, here. Or maybe he really wasn't sure he could make it to the main hatch without tenting his gym shorts.

Bel grinned, as surprised as he was delighted. _Yes, Sir_ , was on his tongue, but the guy had been an NCO; that would _really_ get him in trouble.

Ulon palmed the door open. He paused, looking both ways. Finding the hall empty, he leaned back in.

"And _don't touch yourself_ ," he added, trying and failing to keep a smirk off his face. He left and the door slid shut, leaving Bel alone with his eyebrows halfway up his forehead.

 

Well.

Well, well, well.

Kriff, that was a line straight out of porn.

That went... well.

 

He looked around the cabin, identical to his own. A standard issue duffel sat on the luggage bench. He opened the closet to find a standard issue garment bag; for some reason _that_ sent a shiver up his spine. In the fresher, predictably, a standard issue hygiene kit.

At least the bunk wasn't made. Or maybe that was something else Tana had proscribed. He sat on it and looked out the porthole at the ochre sand stretching away, studded with the shiny black rocks that gave the desert its name. Low spots bristled with gray creosote and shiny purplish succulents.

He tugged his boots off and asked himself where Bel would put them. By the hatch, like a good guest? In the middle of the floor, where Poe had _sometimes_ been known to leave them? He felt a little pique of transgression as he stowed them neatly under the bunk. It was a presumptuous move. But then, presumptuous moves were what had gotten him here in the first place.

He really had been a provocative little shit.

He reclined on his elbow and turned to the small stack of bound books on the nightstand. On top was the guide to Socorroan wildlife, already softened by use. Ulon must have been studying it before the trip, or maybe he'd borrowed it from some other nerd. He flipped through it, stopping at the section on silicoids, recalling the sweet, boyish smile that had first hooked his attention, just a couple days ago. No, wait - that was  _yesterday._

Under that was  _Stepping Up: Physical Education and Leadership Development_. The thin font and primary colors perfectly signalled the tedium that lay within. It was the sort of utterly charmless cover that seemed to actively repel apprehension. Instead his vision wandered around the edges of it, noting that it didn't look like Ulon had cracked it open yet, either. He tried to read the synopsis on the back; his eyes nearly went dry in their sockets.

 

Next was _Socorro in Our Hearts_ , the title stenciled over grainy still photos.

 _"Not everyone who fought the Galactic Empire was rewarded with glory, and not all that defended Socorro shared in its postwar prosperity,"_ the jacket began. _"This is the story of the Socorroan partisans. Many of their names will never be known. Many went to their deaths in disgrace after show trials; many more in obscurity, after torture. Few survivors spoke of their wartime activities, even years after the restoration of the Republic._

_Only now have a few remaining veterans of the Socorroan resistance come forward to honor their comrades and to tell the story of the fight for the soul of their homeworld._

_These stories were collected between 31-33 ABY, as a new strain of Imperial nostalgia rises to the forefront of galactic consciousness. In the words of these heroes, it is vital for a new generation to understand the true nature of the Galactic Empire, lest they permit a dark and painful past to repeat itself."_

 

Damn. Poe would have dug into this and hardly blinked til he was done.

Ulon would have come back from his run, and Poe would have looked up and asked _Holy shit, have you read this?_

 _Parts_ , he would have answered, a shallow wave of sorrow washing across his face. He would have bent to kiss Poe's hair, and Poe would have angled up for a quick kiss, before allowing him to go unmolested to his shower.

They would have lain together reading until supper, where they would regale the other vets with stories from the book. After supper they would sit up drinking with their friends, listening to stories of resistance cells from other worlds, some documented, some legendary, some probably sheer fiction, but the kind of fiction that gave heart to those in need of it.

They would retire together, a little tipsy and flattering one another. Making out would lead to fondling, fondling would turn to falling gently into bed. Poe would run his hands and teeth along Ulon's hard, cut body and admit that he didn't mind being manhandled a bit. Ulon might slap his thigh and tell him that he was a lot of man to handle. Poe would wrap his hands around Ulon's waist, a steady patter of dirty talk keeping thoughts of childhood malnutrition at bay. They would move together with the urgency of the moment, like machines on the field, hydraulic muscles and electric nerves, the air between them growing lean and humid as they breathed and rebreathed into the masks of one another's mouths, as the _new strain of Imperial nostalgia_ rose like a river flooding around them.

 

He set the book down without opening it.

 

The last book in the stack was a thick authorized biography of Lando Calrissian. He'd seen it before; it was the kind of book that was an _object_. The kind of book you gave to your dad on Life Day. The kind of book you read so you had something to talk about with Respectable Strangers. Sturdily bound, large print on heavy paper, sprinkled with stills and with a microprojector embedded in the back cover.

He flipped through the stills and then flipped on the projector. A slideshow of short clips played: a child, impatiently teaching a dice game to the _idiot_ holding the corder. Adolescent Lando, already recognizable in a flashy cape and winning smile, telling fortunes in a narrow souk in Vakeyya. Part of a spot recruiting workers to Bespin. Lando and Han, medals on their chests, arms around one another's shoulders in front of the _Falcon._ The last one was recent, possibly taken for the book, an older, grayer Lando winking at the lens.

He remembered those eyes sweeping over his body, across his chest, down his side, up his legs to the low, round arch of his hips, already filling out at twenty-two, over the top of them to the still-flat abs stretched between them, up again to his face, and then the sudden reward of that famous smile, mocking him a bit while still thoroughly approving.

He stretched his fingers out from where he'd been scratching at his bush, toward the base of his cock.

_Shit._

He stopped, and then reluctantly pulled his hand out of his pants, not recalling having put it there in the first place. He closed the book and set it back with the others. He lay back in Ulon's berth and slipped his arms behind his back, where they belonged.

 

He wasn't sure how to behave when Ulon returned. Should he keep being a flirty, provocative brat? Should he apologize and treat him like the grown-up he was: veteran, teacher, widower, nature-lover?

Or should he confess to the buzzing need, the fuzzy dullness that swathed his senses, the need to be brought into the deeper focus of stiff leather and sharp steel? Sometimes it felt so much like needing to work out after a long, cramped flight. Ulon's craving to run was something similar; he would understand, on some level. It was just a different kind of masochism.

But even if he understood, that clearly wasn't the guy's style. Not personally, not professionally. As an instructor he had relied on charisma and sheer intimidation. It had been his _job_ to be intimidating.

Just as it had been Poe's job never to let himself _be_ intimidated. _Nev_ _er let them see you scared._ And _them_ hadn't meant just the enemy; it had meant his own people, too. It hadn't been enough to keep himself present, keep himself moving. He'd needed reserves of courage, courage enough to lend to others.

Suddenly the thought of cowering under Ulon's professional glare felt like a blissful indulgence. Like spice, like sugar, like playing hooky and sleeping in late.

_...shoulders hunched, eyes pleading, a whimper in his throat, don't hurt me, please, don't hurt me..._

...

Ulon stepped through the door in his slightly-damp PTs and stopped short. He took one look at the man stretched on his bunk: arms pinned, legs open, soft-lipped and drowsy-eyed. He took one whiff of the air already ripening in the small cabin and turned on his heel, into the fresher, cursing softly again as he went.

_Don't. Please, don't._

He didn't. He drank water and muttered and washed his hands. There was a nervewracking pause, when Bel was afraid he was going to shower after all, and then he stepped out, chin forward, eyebrows low and level. He was doing exactly what he'd asked for. He was _in character._

"The hell did you think you were doing, there, boy?"

_Riling you up. Like an asshole._

"I'm sorry."

"Are you? Cause you looked pretty damn pleased with yourself."

"I'm not." He pressed back into the bed, showing weakness, inviting attack. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry that you tried to make an old man walk through a public lounge with a fucking _boner_?"

An involuntary snort withered under a practiced glare.

"I'm sorry," he whispered this time.

"Are you fucking _pouting_?"

He sucked the offending lip between his teeth, looking down and away. He waited; Ulon was silent, thinking.

_Don't hurt me._

"Sit up." His voice was brusque. "Here," he pointed to the edge of the bunk.

Bel moved to obey, still cringing.

"I don't believe I said to use your hands."

He put them back where they belonged and wriggled as gracefully as he could to the edge. It wasn't very graceful. He looked up, wide-eyed, _timid_.

_Say it. "Don't hurt me." Say it._

Ulon studied his face, clearly at least a little concerned. Of course he was concerned, they hardly knew each other; they hadn't _talked_ about any of this.

"Please?"

"Please what?"

"Anything."

"That's a dangerous thing to ask for."

_Not from you._

"I know."

This was totally fucking irresponsible. It had been _years_ since he'd done something like this, goading someone into something kinkier than they seemed to want. Poe had figured out pretty young how to be responsible, even if he'd never stopped _wanting_ to be careless. There just hadn't been a lot of opportunities to be careless, not lately. Not for a senior officer in a small guerrilla army to have no-strings, under-negotiated hookups.

"Please."

Ulon looked him over skeptically, and then a little smirk broke the corner of his mouth. He reached into his PT shorts and pulled out his thumb and forefinger, pinching empty air. It was the imaginary keychip, from that morning.

Bel lit up, flooded with good feelings. Flattery, that he'd even remembered. The sweet little sense of belonging that came with having a secret with someone. Arousal, not knowing what Ulon intended to do with it. And something deeper, something soft and dark and safe, like this person was going to take care of him.

But - but. He frowned a little.

"What's up, boy. Speak up. While you still can."

"I, um. I just kinda assumed. You know."

"What did you _assume_?"

"That, you know. You'd want me to - to go down on you."

"Assumed, or hoped?"

He tilted his head in concession.

"Uh-huh. And I'm pretty sure I also heard you say you wanted to be _punished_."

He looked down again and nodded.

"Anything else you need to say to me?"

He shook his head. He let Ulon pull his chin up, searching for misgivings. He put on his most plaintive face, he parted his lips to the thumb beside them, he suckled it prettily as if bargaining for another outcome.

But Ulon pulled his thumb away, and his face hardened again, _in character._ He pressed Bel's jaw closed and swiped his lips in the little ritual, and smiled, and petted his head.

He sat in the single chair and looked him over again, before beginning to undress: shoes, socks, running shorts. He stood in his boxers and tee and pushed at his shoulder, ordering him to _lie down_.

It wasn't the most comfortable position. Standard bunks were always about an inch too high for this, or maybe his legs were an inch too short: his arms behind his back lifted his hips just enough that his feet wouldn't lay flat on the floor without straining his back. He lifted his legs up on his toes.

He watched Ulon straddle his thighs, and then his waist, kneeling on the bed over his body.

"Gonna find out if you were right."

_Right?_

"See if I smell as good as you thought I would."

_Oh. Yes._

He shuffled up so his knees were around Bel's ears, he stroked himself slowly through his shorts, and yeah, he smelled good. Real good.

"You ever get tired of people telling you how pretty you are?"

He shook his head.

"Good. Cause you're fucking gorgeous. Unbelievably fucking gorgeous. I don't know what the fuck you're doing in my bunk."

_Not being too much of a jerk, I hope._

He stroked with one hand and ran his fingers over Bel's face, into his hair, twisting his fingers through it.

"I bet people like to come in your hair."

He nodded.

"You like it?"

He nodded again.

"That would be fair, wouldn't it? After you tried to send me out there with a hard-on? In my _very_ ," he tugged a thick lock of hair, " _loose_ ," tug, " _shorts_ ," tug. "Take you to this fancy dinner with cum drying in your hair?"

 _Yes._  

His cock throbbed against his fly. It would be humiliating - maybe even too much. He'd like it, but the others wouldn't. The elder scum, the people that had fought and risked and lost so much to defend the dignity of all beings. That had been so _proud_ of him for his fictional escape. They didn't deserve to see him like this.

"Not tonight, though. It would be rude, wouldn't it?"

He nodded, relieved.

"Maybe when we get to Mag Town. Take you to one of those bars where the remediation workers hang out." He played with Bel's hair, posing it. He moved forward, straddling his face, now.

"What do you think?"

He inhaled, lifting his head, tugging the hem of the boxers aside with his nose, trying to get closer.

"That's right. Since you can't tell me how much you want it, you'll have to show me."

He strained up, pushing his face up and inhaling deeply, falling back frustrated, unable even to lick his lips. Ulon rutted gently against his face, the thin cloth of his underwear sliding between soft scrotum and sharp cheekbones.

_"Mmmmmm mmmmm."_

Ulon shushed him and kept tugging his cock through his shorts. Bel's eyes darted between hand and face, trying to be patient, displaying his desire. The hard, authoritarian glint was still there in Ulon's eyes, but his nostrils were flared, his lips pulling apart, baring his teeth a little. He stopped, slid a finger under his waistband, pulled it away just a bit from his body-

_Do it, take it out already..._

He gasped through his nose in anticipation.

"I think maybe you should close your eyes."

He did.

"And keep them closed. Can you do that?"

He nodded vehemently; making direct, sincere eye contact - _oops_. He offered a weak little smile, a cute one that usually won him instant forgiveness. But the ex DI was unmoved and unimpressed.

"It's okay, kid, it was a rhetorical question."

He reared up, stretching, pulling his tee off over his head. He paused to flex a little, then dropped the sweaty shirt over Bel's eyes.

He waited in the dark, panting through his nostrils, waited to feel silky cockhead running over his features. Instead he felt weight lifting from the mattress around him.

"Gonna take your pants off now."

_Wait, I thought you said it'd been a while? You remember what you're doing here?_

But he complied anyway, automatically lifting his hips to allow his clothes be tugged off. He lifted his heels to the narrow frame of the bunk, spreading his legs, tilting his hips, presenting himself to be taken.

_Do you even have lube? I mean, why would you?_

"Nice try, kid."

He felt hands grasp his shins and plant his feet back on the floor.

_"Mmm?"_

"I guess the cliche thing to say here would be _you didn't know who you were messing with_."

There was a _but_ coming, but he indulged himself for the moment in the threat, cringing into the mattress, feeling exposed, drawing his knees together, letting his arms jerk in a reflex to cover himself, holding them in place with his own weight, allowing a pathetic little noise to escape his throat.

"But you knew _exactly_ who you were messing with, didn't you? I told you. It has been literally _decades_ since I've been with a man."

He heard Ulon drink again from his water flask.

"I was gonna take it slow with you. Get nice and warmed up, not make any promises, try to do you right. But you don't really do slow, do you, boy?"

_I'm sorry._

He felt his legs pushed apart, first by hands and then by knees.

"This is gonna be the shittiest kriffing blowjob you have had in years, possibly your entire life. And you're gonna lie there. You're not gonna watch, you're not gonna touch, you're not gonna tell me what to do. You're not gonna try to tell me how _good_ it feels."

_Oh, no, buddy, no, what if I can't..._

He felt him drop between his legs, and he was anxious, afraid he wouldn't be able to perform, wouldn't be able to give him what he wanted.

"You're gonna lie there like a fucking doll. Like a fucking dildo. Can you do that, boy?"

Okay, that helped. That kind of talk definitely helped.

"Can you be a good dildo for me?"

He nodded.

"Good boy."

The hands on his thighs were gentle, at first. _Kirst_ , had been her name. How many times had Ulon pushed her thighs apart like this?

He nosed around in his groin, sniffing his pubes and nudging his balls.

"You smell good, too, kid."

He pressed his lips to one testicle, licking between his lips, sucking a little.

"And you taste good. You like that too? You like a nice sweaty nutsack in your mouth?"

_"Mmmmm."_

"No?"

_"Mmm!"_

"Yeah, I guess it's not for everyone."

_"Mm-mmm!"_

He sucked hard, then, biting a little, tugging, and Bel groaned. Then there was hot breath on his shaft, a cooler inhale, warmer exhale - and then warm, wet, soft at first, then sucking, it was good, but _please, more, please_... he tried to thrust, just a little, to get deeper, but he didn't have the leverage.

"No, no, be a good doll for me. I haven't done this in a long time, and there's this pretty boy I'm trying to impress."

Oh, yeah, that was the stuff. He repeated _good doll, pretty boy_ in his head, felt the buzzing in his flesh burrow down into his gut, into his groin. He felt Ulon pushing deeper with obvious effort, his uneven breath hard and short in his nostrils.

_C'mon, you know what to do, breathe slower. Take it. Like you're swallowing, c'mon, you can do it._

He could, until he couldn't, until he went stiff between Bel's thighs, gagging and trying to stifle it. His mouth flooded with thin saliva.

_It's okay, man, no rush, it's okay._

But a hand was there, taking advantage of the stringy saliva, and there was the sound of him panting, and it was almost like being a teenager again, it was so sweet. He just wanted to hold the man's head and look in his eyes and tell him it felt good, it all felt good...

_You mean, everything he told you not to do? That's a bad doll._

He whimpered, and that was bad, too. He wanted the other punishment, the one where Ulon brought him into _one of those bars where the remediation workers hang out_ looking ravished, with his hair wild and one eye red and puffy, his lips raw and bruises on his neck. Or, well, hickeys, at least.

Ulon was working him good now, jerking light and fast, his mouth shallow but making up for it by sucking hard, so earnest it was fucking _adorable_ , how could this possibly be the same guy who'd just threatened to publicly humiliate him...

_...They'd be filthy, in their dirty coveralls and muddy boots. His man would guide him possessively to a booth and sprawl there, spreading his legs to allow him to take his place on the floor, head in his lap. He would order a drink for someone, welcome them into the booth. They'd put their dirty boots up on his back ... he'd be wearing something light, so when they walked out, the muddy footprints would be unmistakable on his back..._

His thighs were tired and trembling from holding them up on his toes, and he was starting to sweat, and the cabin was small and the damp shirt was in his face...

_...He was there with a skinny teenaged rebel, under a poncho, between rows of crates, in a corner of a greasy-smelling cargo hold, trying not to make any noise, feeling like it was taking so long, while his comrade held his hand over his own mouth; every creak sounded like someone walking in on them. The lucky comrade kept lifting the poncho, to give him air, to watch his dick disappear into the warmth behind that handsome young face, he wanted Ulon to look at him, too, but he kept tugging the poncho back over his head. The air inside the transport was stale and hot..._

Suddenly he was close, so close; he'd been lost in feverish fantasy, and now he was going to come, and he knew what Ulon was doing, he was sucking hard so it would go down fast, so he wouldn't have to taste it. He didn't have to do that-

_"Mmm! Mmm!"_

Bel tried to push him away with his heels, to no avail, and bit his lip to keep from crying out as he came.

 

For a few minutes, the angle of his spine was something he could totally live with. He felt as pliable as a shop tooka napping in a toolbox.

He flinched at an electric sizzle in the head of his cock, as a finger wiped away the last drizzle of cum. He heard soft smacks as Ulon licked it up and rolled his tongue around, tasting deliberately this small, safe amount.

_...He'd have been more confident, by twenty-five, taking the retired officer deep, looking up at his wife riding the man's face; she gasped at how beautiful her husband was with his lips stretched round like that, looking up at her through his eyelashes..._

The shirt was pulled away and he blinked into the light. Ulon's face was flushed and he looked pleased, but by his posture he was still in character.

"How you holding up, boy?"

_Holding up?_

"You thirsty?"

_Is that a euphemism?_

His face softened, and he caressed Bel's jaw.

"I mean it. Are you okay?"

He smiled as wide as he could and nodded.

"You need to stop?"

He shook his head.

"You need a break?"

He shook his head, but raised an eyebrow.

"We've got plenty of time before dinner."

It was hard not to laugh; he wasn't concerned in the slightest about the time or even making it to the dinner at all.

"And I don't think I'm done with you."

His heart leapt, and he felt himself sinking again, sinking into the mattress, eyes curving into something piteous, _don't hurt me, please..._

Ulon tossed his boxers up next to Bel's face and crawled over him, straddling him again. His cock was dark and straight, full of confidence after having successfully impressed his pretty boy. The pretty boy tried to ask for it with his eyes, but Ulon just stroked himself idly, studying his face like some kind of strategic objective.

He finally made up his mind about something. His face hardened again, and he began stroking in earnest.

_That's it, give it to me. C'mon, hit me._

He made himself look pretty, batting his eyelashes, softening his lips, being _naked_. And Ulon responded beautifully, his eyes widening to take in the picture below him, his mouth breaking its tight, professional line to form silent pleas of his own.

_Hit me, right in the face. Like a fucking porno, c'mon._

It didn't take long, and Ulon strained to keep something like punishing authority on his face, even as his breath came ragged and his movements grew erratic, even as he thrust and tensed into his hand, into his _hands_.

He sank back, panting a little. When his eyes opened again, he looked distressingly amused. He flicked his eyes down to acknowledge the pool of semen in his hand, and then back up at Bel, who groaned under him.

"I know. This must seem really unfair."

_"Mmmmm..."_

"What's with the moaning? You were being so good."

He stopped abruptly. He turned his head away, dejected, nosing into the underwear lying next to his head. He breathed in and closed his eyes and gave up on ever getting a single drop of jizz. Possibly for the rest of his life.

And then Ulon took that away too, folding the boxers into a neat little rectangle and wiping his hand with exaggerated care.

He looked down, much softer, now, and touched Bel's jaw. He brandished the key again, turning it over in his fingers, considering it.

Bel wasn't sure he wanted it. He felt like he'd be content to stay locked up all night. But they should probably talk. He'd done a shitty enough job of communicating before. Although apparently he hadn't pushed too hard, after all. Which was kind of amazing. It's not like many people wore their kinks on their sleeve, but still. He was ~~thirty-two~~ twenty-eight and pretty good at picking up on cues and hints, but he hadn't gotten _any_ cues from Ulon. Had he lost something back there? Some kind of sexual intelligence? Or maybe the guy was just that good at hiding it - from his employers, from his _students_.

Ulon gave him a reassuring little smile and swiped the chip again. He licked his lips and stretched his jaw.

"How you feeling? Are you okay?"

"Okay?" he grinned. "I'm fucking ecstatic."

"That wasn't too much?"

"Not too much. Fucking amazing. I had no idea you had that in you. Were you planning that while you were ru-"

Ulon stuffed the sticky underwear in his mouth. He paused a moment to be amused by the shocked expression on Bel's face, and got up to take the shower he'd put off.

_Holy shit._

...

 

He was back moments later, wrapped in a towel, bearing two glasses of water to the nightstand. He sat next to Bel, looking concerned again, helping him to sit up.

"And," he tugged gently at his elbows, "let's have these back. You should probably stretch a little."

He wiggled his fingers and rested his hands in his lap.

"Can I have this back?" He touched the underwear sticking out of Bel's mouth, to which the latter let his head droop.

"You want to wait?"

He nodded.

"Will you lie down with me?"

He nodded, and crawled back into the bunk. They curled together face to face, but Bel slid down and pressed his forehead into the springy gray hair on Ulon's chest. It was nice. He let himself be comforted by a warm hand on his shoulder and a kiss on the top of his head. It was so nice.

 

He was floating on the shores of sleep when an image bubbled up, uninvited, of the worn old guidebook to edible and poisonous plants of Yavin IV, sitting on the shelf by the back door with hats and optics and a compass hanging on a chain.

He bolted upright, tearing the cloth out of his mouth.

"You okay, bud? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing, I gotta pee."

He did have to. He also had to shovel water into his mouth in his cupped hands, and do it without seeing himself in the mirror.

 

It was just a bad dream about _work_ , he explained. The trip, the _funeral_ , had been so sudden. He'd dreamed that he'd left his clients in the lurch, without contact or instructions, _classic anxiety dream_. In fact, he mused, he'd probably been burying a lot of stress, and it was only because Ulon had been _so good_ to him that he'd relaxed enough for it to surface. _Honestly_.

Ulon seemed to believe him. He even blinked a little at the compliment.

"You know it's not good to hold it all in like that."

"I know."

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

"Obviously not," he answered with a wry smile.

"Well. If you change your mind."

"Thanks. Sorry I worried you."

"No - oh shit."

"What?"

Ulon reached for the water he'd brought. "I forgot. This is for you."

"Thanks."

"Sorry. I read somewhere that that's really important."

"Water? Yeah, can't live without it."

"Ha. I mean, after, you know. I mean, I know you weren't really tied up, but- I dunno. I don't know what I'm talking about."

Bel looked at him curiously.

"You said you _read_ something?"

"I don't mean porn," Ulon blushed. "Well, not exactly."

"No, they never show that part in porn."

"Stories, you know. Some of them seem like they know what they're talking about."

Bel's face wrinkled up in delight. "That's called _erotica_ , man."

"Yeah, I know what it's called, and I refuse to admit that word to my vocabulary."

"Same," he laughed. "How about _smut_?"

"Smut, yes. That's it."

"So, you learned everything you know about aftercare from reading smut?"

Ulon covered his face with his hand.

"And, listening attentively to your partners, right? ...  _Right_?"

He peeked out from between his fingers.

"I know this is gonna make me sound old, but. I've never done anything like this before."

"Like this?"

"You know. Giving orders and stuff."

"Domming someone?"

"Right. Also not in the lexicon."

Bel sat up again, gaping.

_"Never?"_

"Like I said: old man."

"Don't fish," he tutted, slapping his arm. "And, what I mean is, you're a fucking natural. You were so confident and so... scary. And... _creative_."

"I wouldn't say natural. More like a skillset. Part of the job description."

"Mm. The scary part, anyway."

"Well... no, the creative part, too. There's so many constraints on non-judicial punishments. If you really wanna smoke 'em, you gotta be creative."

Bel chuckled at that.

"And you gotta be able to read individuals. I know this sounds ironic, what with all the stereotypes out there, but it takes a certain amount of... empathy. To to see where these kids are at and what's getting through to them."

He nodded, trying not to look too knowing. "I believe it."

"Not that it takes much skill to read  _you_. You're really... expressive."

"Thanks. I try." 

"Hm."

"Not in the sense of  _faking_! In the sense of  _communicating_."

"I get it. I mean, that was really fun and really hot. But it was sort of a. Sort of a performance."

"That's exactly what it is! See, you  _are_ a natural."

"Well, that's part of the skillset, too, I guess. I spent half my career filling a role."

"Mmmm. You can fill this one anytime, mister."

"Okay. Well. Glad I didn't disappoint you."

"Not at all," he snorted.

"I mean, I know this is all pretty normal for you kids."

"Kids?! Dude, I have gray hairs in my beard."

"Uh huh."

"And I wouldn't call it normal."

"No? Cause that's what it looks like."

"Naw. I mean, there's a certain _aesthetic_ out there. In porn and, uh, in fashion."

"Yeah, I noticed. But isn't that-" His fingers traced lightly over the scars on Bel's ribs. "How is that different from what you do?"

His mouth opened to speak.

    _It's about trust. It feels so good to trust someone._

Poe had said it so many times, to his partners, to his curious friends. But there was no one he could trust, now, not really. He'd only known Ulon two days, and he did trust him, because he saw the company he kept, had seen the tenderness and loyalty he showed at the springs, talking about his wife and their lover. But there wouldn't be many like him where Bel was headed.

"I don't know. I guess I haven't figured it all out yet. But I know what I  _don't_ like."

"That's good. Cause I'd really hate to see you get hurt out there."

    _Godsdammit. Godsfuckingdammit._

He felt prickly alarm sweat break out on his face. He sat up, against the bulkhead, and swallowed the watery saliva now pooling in his own mouth. He focused on the palest, skinniest parts of the man's body. His narrow hips, his lean, white thighs. The freckles that mediated his tan lines, the brassy glint of lingering blond in his chest hair.

"What is it that you don't like?"

"Ha," he laughed weakly. "I'll warn you, I've been accused of being a killjoy."

"Kill away."

He sighed.

"People like to, to play these games. Like, for example, people my age, in _most_ sectors of the galaxy, have never seen slavery being practiced openly. They want to believe it doesn't exist anymore, and that it's a safe thing to play with. That it's, like, sexy to pretend. To me, that feels more dangerous than _this_." He ran his fingers over the scars, and Ulon nodded sadly.

"Yeah. I mean, even if it _were_  totally eradicated. Even if, Force willing, it is someday. That would still be... tasteless, at best."

"It's gross. I mean, porn is gross in general, but."

"Tell me about it. There is _so much_ porn out there situated in the training environment. And it's no secret that actual, criminal abuses of power go on. Not just in the Training Corps but in all branches of the NRDF. How anyone can know that and still get off on watching it just..." Ulon shook his head. "It makes me kind of queasy. It's like... incest, or something."

"Ha!" He barked out a laugh, a little too loud. "Are you kidding? People _love_ incest porn."

"Ugh," Ulon groaned. "How did we end up here?"

"It doesn't matter how classy your smut is, buddy. Bring it up in conversation and it's a pretty short ride downhill."

They laughed, and then Bel sighed, and reluctantly proceeded to be even more responsible.

"So, um. In case you ever feel like trying it again with anyone. You should know. I've been pretty irresponsible, here. I was kinda pushy, and I'm sorry."

"You weren't too pushy."

"Well. This whole talking thing, here? We shoulda done this before."

"You know it's like that with boring old-people sex, too, right?"

Bel rolled his eyes.

"But yes, I knew that."

"Did you?" He made his voice low and sultry. "So, you're into the smut with those _looong, technical,_ negotiation scenes?"

Ulon covered his face again.

"No. It's just common kriffing sense. So, I'm sorry, too."

"Don't be.  _I'm_ fine, buddy. I am _delighted_. I just meant, for future reference."

"Thanks. I doubt I'll call on that, but thanks."

"No? You're saying you haven't  _discovered something_ about yourself here?"

"Besides that I'm not too old to suck cock? I don't think so." Ulon's smile faded. He took a deep breath. "Look, I know I shouldn't have just."

"No. That was  _awesome_. Do it again. Please."

"No, seriously. It's - well, it's kinda what we were just talking about."

"What do you mean? Porn?"

"Kind of. I mean. You asked to meet _Sergeant Duriopolla_ ,"

Bel grinned; he liked Sergeant Duriopolla.

"I was afraid that if I asked, you were gonna ask me for something like that. Some kind of training scenario."

"Gross! I would never!"

"I didn't know that! You told me you used to play Inspection!"

(It wasn't exactly true, but it was close enough, and had made for a good distraction.)

"I was like, nineteen! I was young and stupid and didn't know how to talk about my feelings."

"Oh, you _were_ , huh? Way back then?"

"Didn't you hear me about the gray hairs?"

Ulon sighed. It turned into a yawn, and he rolled over with a groan that translated as _kriff, I'm so old._

Bel snuggled up behind him, wrapped his arm around his skinny waist, and kissed his lightly-freckled shoulder. "Speaking of feelings. How are you feeling about this dinner thing?"

"Don't even ask."

"I mean, we could skip it, and you could show me what _you_ like."

"Maul's balls, buddy; I'd never hear the end of it."

Bel laughed.

"Seriously. We should find you something to wear."

 

* * *

 

Dinner was... elaborate.

Holoprojected songbirds flitted around the ceiling while the group took their seats and dusky sweet honey wine was passed around. Bel kept his habit of eating with Horace and Min and Kadja, while Ulon steeled himself for a merciless interrogation. Min was kinder; she just leaned in close and murmured, "What a lovely tunic. Was that hiding in that little bag of yours?"

An emcee made brief remarks, thanking the veterans for their service, thanking the Foundation for its conservation funding, and introducing the chef. The holos shifted, and it wasn't a panoply of songbirds anymore, but a single, brilliant indigo and orange species that whirled in close formation.

The dusk wren, the chef explained, had once been an iconic delicacy of the region. While many other species had been lost along with their habitats, the dusk wren had been hunted to extinction. Working with a few Blackrock elders old enough to remember the wren, they had recreated the dish with a related, more plentiful species. The chef beamed as servers delivered domed platters, revealing the creation with a flourish.

 _Elaborate_  was really the only word for it _._  An actual  _stick,_  of  _wood_ , crossed each plate. Wilted greens were arranged like clusters of leaves. Perched on the branch was a nest of string-cut rootstuff, feathered with fresh herb fronds, and occupied by a small roasted bird. Very small.

Bel bit his tongue and kept his eyes down, avoiding eye contact with anyone; he felt like he was about to explode laughing. Gradually the room filled with the appropriate sounds, the  _oohs_  and  _mmms_  of people successfully expressing appreciation. He was relieved when the lights dimmed a bit and a wide-beam holo presentation began.

 

It began with an aerial tour of the planet's awesome volcanic geology and various deserts, plains and short, stunted forests, accompanied by soaring organs and soft brushy percussion. Then the music ended abruptly with ground level shots of belching smokestacks, burning streams, wells pumping out orange sludge. Lando stood grandstanding before a chamber full of dignitaries, pounding the podium about the toxic legacy of Imperial trade compacts. The bit on environmental stipulations in NR procurement contracts was mercifully brief. Renewal began as if by collective will:

The scientists came first, testing water, rescuing sick and orphaned wildlife, doing science-y things with soil samples. Then came industrial remediation: water treatment facilities were built, brownfields were sequestered, old fashioned smelters were replaced with photon evaporators. An army of youth and unemployed veterans spread out replanting native flora. Veterinarians introduced the lens to rehab facilities and breeding programs.

The uplifting music returned, and the aerial tour resumed, even grander than the first. The lens skimmed across the vast expanse of the Blackrock Desert, drawing up to the sinuous oasis of a streambed. Songbirds hopped about. Bel caught a glimpse of little 250, 25, 25 from that morning and winked at Ulon across the room. The lens tilted up to a pair of parrot-hawks circling over the stream. They circled higher and higher, eventually disappearing into the ceiling. 

The group applauded. Bel slugged down the rest of his wine and began to stretch, 100% ready to head back to the yacht, when Min reminded him there was still a dance performance coming. It was fine. It didn't last too long. Dessert was delicious, almost heavenly, and he found himself calculating how long he could go without working at all, just traveling in style like this. Not long, maybe a couple of months. Maybe he could figure out how to do both.

...

Back on the yacht, most of the scum yawned off toward their berths. A few gathered in the lounge for nightcaps on the first leg of the overnight flight. They were among the eldest in the group, probably the ones that had indulged in afternoon naps while Bel and Sergeant Duriopolla were getting to know one another.

He found Ulon with Shike and the Ithorians, hanging near the corridor and joking about the presentation.

"I mean, I admire the guy as much as the next person, but."

"It was a bit much."

"This whole place is a bit much."

"Does the Foundation make them say that stuff, you think?"

"Nah, everyone loves a homeworld hero."

"Well, not everyone," Shike said, nodding his chin at Bel. "That kinda stuff must've driven your old man crazy."

"Oh, ha ha. Yeah. He kinda hated the guy."

Shike seemed pleased with this admission.

"I can still remember him ranting about how he had one chance to do something honorable for once in his life, but he was 'constitutionally incapable of loyalty' or something. Biting the hand that fed him, or some bullshit." He waved the conversation away with his hand. He didn't have to pretend to be uncomfortable talking about Ota senior. He was already planning some major edits to his biography once he got off the cruise.

"Um," he addressed Ulon, looking down somewhere around everyone's knees, "Do you, um, want your tunic back? Tonight?"

"N-" 

He caught motion out of the corner of his eye, the others encouraging their friend.

"Sure. I'll walk you back."

They waved good night to the others. He let them into his cabin feeling genuinely, almost stupidly shy. He couldn't tell if it was just traces of his intimidation game, earlier, or the cumulative weight of lies and shame and youth and inadequacy. He started to undress.

"Wait. I was thinking - you should actually hold on to that. I think there's a couple more nice dinners coming."

"Okay. Thanks."

"Bel. Can I ask you something?"

He shrugged.

"Tell me if I'm out of line. But. You obviously don't like talking about your folks."

"Would  _you_?"

"No, no. But you're not alone. And no one blames you. Not at all."

It sounded like something Poe would have said. Even worse, it sounded like something  _Kes_  would have said.

"Look, Shike's got a lot to be bitter about. And he knows you do, too. He's not trying to hurt you. He's - trying to show you he's on your side. It just comes out in a really negative way, sometimes."

"Thanks, man."

"I know you probably don't want me to say anything to him."

"Nope!"

"Okay, but if you change your mind, lemme know."

"I won't, but thanks."

"Alright. Do you, um..."

"Wanna hang out?"

"I mean, I'm pretty beat."

"Exhausted. You guys always go this hard?"

"No. Tomorrow's supposed to be a lot chiller. I might even sleep in. A little."

"What! What about your reputation!"

"Don't tell anyone."

"So, um. You wanna sleep in _here_?"

Ulon looked at him, and he just looked so...  _boyish_  was the only word, really. Bel felt tender towards him; he deserved better than some fucked up kid playing fucked up games. But it was only for a few days. Maybe he could get his groove back, go back to Hosnian Prime and meet someone nice his own age.

"I won't try anything. I promise."

Ulon frowned, "Well, you don't have to go that far."

"Til morning, anyway."

He smiled and took Bel's hand, and they pulled together into a soft hug and a sweet kiss on the cheek.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it looks pretty ominous, but I promise I'm not gonna kill Ulon.


	8. I feel so broke up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The vets visit a collection of historic spacecraft.

He awoke after three hours, like usual, feeling like he could get used to these kind of accommodations. The bed wasn't the most luxurious he'd ever been in, but it was up there. The body next to him wasn't hot, wasn't heavy, wasn't snoring. The airship was faintly vibrating somewhere around 120 hertz, and resonating at about a quarter of that. He imagined this was what it was like to be a kitten safe in its mama's den.

And he was perfectly aroused, just enough that caressing his own thigh made pleasure blossom in his core. Not so much that he needed to do anything about it, not enough to wake anyone up.

But there was a hard, athletic ass pressed up against his hip. Bel rolled into him, smoothing his palm over a firm stomach; he was hard, too. He ran the backs of his fingernails against it, kissed his shoulder. He'd promised to be good, and he could be. It was nice just to admire such a cool, hard body.

He'd promised to be good until morning, his dick reminded him. And it was after midnight; technically, it was morning. Bel rubbed up against him, and it felt so good, and Ulon pushed back to meet him.

"Mmsorry, said I wasn't gonna try anything."

"Ssokay, ss'not you."

"No?" He thrust a little harder. "Cause I feel like I'm being kinda rude right now."

Ulon's hand closed over his cock, trapping it between their two hands. "No, I'm the one being rude, cause I can't right now."

"Can't what?"

Ulon buried his face in his pillow. "You know," came out muffled.

"Uh-uh. I have no idea," Bel chuckled low and somewhat villainously. Ulon bent his leg and made a frustrated little noise.

"Ohhh,  _that_  idea." The head of his cock zeroed in on body heat like a bee to a flower. "I like that idea. That's a real good idea. But you know. You don't have to do that, if you don't want."

"Want to. Just - not right now."

Bel laughed and pushed him over onto his stomach, nipping at his shoulder. "Why not now," he teased.

"You know."

"Nuh-uh. You're gonna have to be a lot more explicit."

He sighed. "I'vebeenkeepingthesameschedulefordecadesandmybodyissetinitsways," he muttered into the pillow. Bel found this hilarious.

"Is that what you call explicit?"

"Yup."

"Soooo, after breakfast, maybe?"

"Yeah. Or if we get another afternoon nap."

"Oh, I will definitely make a nap happen for you, buddy. And your sweet little ass."

Ulon laughed and choked at the same time, and turned back again into his pillow. It was an adorable habit, the way he hid his face when he was shy. The contrast to the brusque authority he displayed  _in character_  just made it even more adorable. And then the thought of him in character washed over Bel, made the room darker, made his whole body heavier, pushed the breath out of his body.

"No pressure," he breathed. "If you don't want to. Honestly, I could spend this whole trip just sucking your cock."

"Oh,  _fuck_ , Bel."

"Whatever you want. Or don't. I know it's been a long time since anyone got into you."

"Nnnghh. Not that long."

"Oh  _really_." His eyes snapped open again in curiosity; his lashes brushed against a short, neat haircut. "Someone else you didn't want to talk about?"

"No. ...no." The second time he said it the smile was gone from his voice.

_Oh. Shit. Of course._

"You and her?"

"Yeah."

"Oh. Oh, honey. I'm sorry." Bel wrapped around him and kissed his hair. "I'm so pushy, I'm a jerk, I'm sorry."

"You're not. You're great." He turned and looked Bel in the eye. "I mean it." His voice was low and horny. "I'm alright. You don't have to  _stop_  stop."

"No?" Bel kissed his neck. "That's good. I don't wanna stop. Not after the way you teased me earlier." He nibbled his way down to Ulon's hip.

"Please?"

Ulon made a horny little whimper, rolled onto his back and finally,  _finally_  let him at it.

...

 

He asked about her, afterward. She'd been a year older than him. They'd fought together, and married about a year after the concordance. She was a jock, too.  _Real butch_ , he said. She'd spent most of her career developing sports armor. She had a passion for supportive devices for xenos and for disabled athletes. Some of her lab's products had been picked up by the NRVS, he said, and  _that_  was the thing that finally brought him to dab at his eyes. He was proud of her.

... 

 

_He couldn't see her; she was just kind of a presence. She buddy-slapped him on the back and thanked him. For what, he asked; he wanted to be here. For being a good listener, she said. It was his job to be a good listener, he shrugged. She laughed and pushed something into his hand._

_Was it a gift? A joke? Money? He couldn't open his fist. It felt like money, but he couldn't open his hand to see._

_...He held his fist out to Ulon. They were walking around the track on campus. No, he said, You keep that. She wanted you to have it._

_But what is it?_

_Money, probably, he answered easily, and set off running._

_...Force, if I had a credit for every time that girl told me you were a good listener._

_Dad?_

_I always said, you sure we're talking about the same kid? He laughed._

_Dad, I don't want this._

_You be safe out there, kiddo. He nudged him in the arm. You know what I mean by 'safe,' right?_

_Yeah, Dad, I know._

_Good. He buddy-slapped him on the back. Cause I'd hate to see you get hurt out there._

 

He gasped awake. He tried to shrug off the shreds of the dream, but he was frozen, seeing the cabin through his eyelids. He tried to pry his eyes open, to twitch a single finger, to ask for help, anything, but all he could do was pant harder and harder through his nose until Ulon was shaking him awake.

 

Well, he'd  _thought_  he'd just been panting. 

Apparently, he'd been yelling out for his father.

Apparently, he was  _fucked_.

 

One of Poe's contacts had been a Winnower. A minor sect, they believed that the soul didn't join the Force directly after death. Rather, it first had to suffer penalties for sins committed in life. It had sounded barbaric at first, punishing something that no longer had any agency to act. She explained that through this suffering, Darkness was purged from the Force. Only the Light in a soul returned into the great, universal field. In this way, a little Darkness was winnowed out with each passing. Someday, generations or maybe millenniums hence, it would be gone entirely. Pure Light would penetrate and surround every living thing: a paradise.

Purging. Winnowing. Maybe that's what he was doing on this fucking cruise.

 

* * *

 

Min was his date for their visit to the airstrip museum. A rusty, mothballed little fleet occupied an old racetrack, supposedly Lando's first real estate venture. The group nodded politely at this claim.

 

They walked for a while with her friends Pearl and Lozelle. They wandered into a musty troop transport. He subconsciously scanned the hulk for salvagability while he listened to the old friends reminisce about the vagaries of crowded flights: the smells, the snoring, the occasional victory of snuggling up next to an object of affection. Even the overtaxed freshers seemed funny from thirty years' distance.

 

He took her hand as they approached a tableau of fighters, casually steering her past them.

"So what did you do in the war, Min?"

"Don't you want to look at the fighters? The X-wings?"

He'd seen them before, he said, at the Restoration Museum on Coruscant. Ones in much better shape. They even let you climb into the cockpit.

"But those guys get all the glory. I want to hear what  _you_  did."

"Nothing you're gonna see here. I was ground to ground."

"Like,  _ballistics_? That's fuckin' hardcore."

"It's kriffing  _archaic_. But believe it or not, there's a use for it sometimes."

"Yeah, planets have a habit of being round."

"Thank you!" She laughed. "How do you know about R&E? Have you done work for Defense?"

"Nah. It's just geometry."

"Exactly. Oh, you're so handsome, it's not fair that you're smart, too."

"Look who's talking. How is that you're so beautiful  _and_  such a badass?"

She scoffed, but didn't let go of his hand.

"Actually, I have done a  _little_  work for them. Years ago. But it was all interface stuff, auditory stuff. Nothing, like, tactical."

"You ever thought about trying to get a permanent slot? Settle down?"

"Nah. I like moving around."

 

They came to an obligatory 1300. A pair of museum techs were "restoring" the ship with plasteel panels. Or rather had been; at the moment they were smiling and nodding while Goldenrule pointed out that the materials would never survive breaking atmosphere. It was obvious the hunk of junk would never even fly again; the ersatz panels were just for show. But Goldenrule were so earnest; they weren't complaining but rather trying to be helpful. It was sweet. And it was funny that such a  _hideous_  couple of beings could engender such affection.

Min bailed the techs out by explaining that what they were doing was a kind of stagecraft, to which the couple brightened and complimented the techs enthusiastically. It turned out the dejarik set was in perfect working order, and the techs were about to go on break. Bel and Min left the four of them to it; if they stopped to watch they'd be stuck there.

 

They passed a massive cargo ship, big enough that it had started to sink into the ground. They came around the corner of it and - his heart skipped a beat. Min stiffened beside him.

"Why in the hell did they put  _that_  here!"

"To make us cry?" he ventured.

"More like to make me spit." She looked angry.

"No, honey, that's - _that's a_ _Z_ _eta,_ " he finished in a reverent whisper.

"I know what it is, blew the shit out of dozens of them and I'm sorry there's any left to stick in a damn museum."

"No, no, come look. C'mon."

He'd never seen one before; most of them  _had_  been blown to shit and there weren't many left to put in museums. He walked up the gang slowly, drinking in every detail. Shiny patches on the hatchway showed where countless fingers had rested while visitors' eyes adjusted to the dim interior.

It was dark inside, and small. Even stripped and empty, it seemed cramped. Maybe not as bad as a First Order AAL, but then most livestock got more room to move than those fuckers. He heard Min pause behind him.

"Just what am I supposed to be looking at?"

"Are you telling me you've never watched  _The Citadel_?"

"No, I... I don't watch war holos. Wasn't that the one about Scarif?"

He nodded somberly.

 _"Oh._ " Her hand moved to rest over her heart.

"Yeah."

"Oh," she whispered again. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. They stepped together into the ship. He gestured to the flight compartment, offering to let her go first, but she shook her head.

"I'm just gonna sit here for a little bit."

 

He realized he was holding his breath as he stood between the flight cabinets. He took a step and settled carefully into the pilot's seat. He looked through the narrow viewports. They were thick; he could hardly see anything through them.

Most of the instruments were missing, like in the rest of the craft in the motley collection. But those, he supposed, had been cannibalized. Maybe these had, too, for the handful of surviving Zetas in higher-profile museums in the Core. Or maybe they'd been taken as trophies.

But the mic was still there. It twisted before his eyes as tears obscured his vision. He wiped them away and swallowed, and gingerly reached out to hold it. It was chained to the panel and there was a seal on the back that indicated some kind of tracker. He couldn't imagine anyone wanting to steal it. It would be like stealing from a fucking shrine.

The textured plastic was worn smooth from handling. For a moment it felt like the gratitude of countless visitors inhabited the space like a ghost, flowing through and around him and making him lightheaded. He held the thing and let the tears flow free.

He hoped,  _prayed_  that someone on D'Qar would have the sense to tell Bodhi's story to their newest recruit.

 

There were footsteps in the main cabin, so he set the mic back in the cradle. He let his fingertips linger; it was hard to pull them away. Then he sniffed and straightened up. He wiped his face and got up to make room for someone else.

He nodded at another couple blinking into the dark, while Min peered into the cockpit. She was only a moment; the troop compartment was closer to her own heart.

Outside, Danice was standing alone by the nose. He looked away to avoid eye contact, although he needn't have. Her gaze was fixed on something long ago and far away.

 

Between the airstrip and the visitor center was a weedy little bank where risers had once stood. Between the weeds the ground was tawny with the remains of a failed attempt at growing turf. A few of the scum were already resting there.

They sat, but there wasn't much to say, and half the group were still wandering at the far end of the track, so he lay back and closed his eyes. He wasn't really thinking, he was just sort of  _being_  in the dim cockpit of the old Zeta.

The dry grass tickled the back of his neck. He didn't scratch; he just began counting the stalks he could feel, one of Poe's old habits. And then the sky seemed to grow dark before his eyes as he sank into a better man's memories.

_There was one on the back of his neck. One under his ear. At least he thought it was another one. One on the ground, brushing against his hand. He thought about crushing it, but some insects got agitated when they smelled one of their kind injured. Instead he curled his fingers around it painstakingly slowly, just to feel it, to get a sense of what it looked like. He had no idea how long it took._

_...There was one investigating his trouser leg. He twisted his leg slowly, not to crush it, just to discourage it from going further._

_...He'd lost count. One on his neck, one. One on his jaw, two. One trapped safely in his hand, three. He couldn't tell if the one on his leg was still there, or had just stopped moving. One doing... something... to his pinky toenail. Cleaning it, he decided. Like a pedicure._

_...He wished he could close his ears. Not just to the bugs, but to the voices. To the promises. The promise of light, the promise of freedom. And most insidious of all, the promise of forgiveness._

 

It was a shame he couldn't talk to Danice. She would have understood. They could even have laughed about it together, the way Min and her girlfriends laughed about the non-functioning freshers.

_'Did they ever tell you guys what they were?'_

_'No! You'd think after that we deserved to know.'_

_'Buddy of mine convinced himself they were microbots, programmed not to hurt anyone.'_

_'Well, a buddy of mine came to with one on her fucking eye, so.'_

_'Yeah, those fuckers were the worst.'_

_'Which, the bugs or the trainers?'_

_Their eyes would meet, and silent, secret laughter would pass between them._

He could imagine something like laughter in her eyes, but he couldn't picture her actually laughing. It was too bad they couldn't have been here together. She shouldn't have to be here alone. They should have been here together.

 

* * *

Lunch was at a newer, posher racetrack near the old one. Bel skipped it. He wasn't hungry. He flopped back into his berth feeling the full weight of cosmic punishment and desperate to get off the trip. A hit of spice lifted some of the weight and let him float a bit, but the cosmos wasn't done with him yet.

He assumed the knock on his door would be Ulon, but it was a sixty-ish man named Poddar, holding a pair of size 28 trainers. Oh, he stammered, that was so generous, but what would  _Poddar_  wear? The guy looked sidelong down the corridor and admitted that lending them meant  _he_  wouldn't have to do any running while he was on vacation. Bel laughed and took the shoes and thanked him. He made a mental note to buy him a drink later, and to make sure to do it in front of his girlfriend.

He took another hit and set to kneading around Bel's life, feeling for a shape he knew had to be there. A safe, wholesome excuse for all the nightmares. Ideally, one he could flesh out before naptime.

 

It turned out he didn't need to worry about naptime. Everyone was feeling pretty subdued after the morning's visit. When Ulon showed up at his door, he was bearing half a sandwich. He hadn't been very hungry, either, he said. Bel thanked him and tentatively invited him in.

"Actually, um. Did Poddar ever find you?"

"Yeah. Thanks. That's very generous."

"Well, I was gonna go out for just a short run. I'd love it if you joined me."

He opened his mouth, but no fresh excuse came to mind.

"Sometimes it really helps clear out the cobwebs. If you're feeling down or, y'know, having trouble sleeping."

"Having nightmares, you mean?"

Ulon shrugged apologetically.

"Well. In my line of work, you know. I spend way too much time sitting on my ass. I doubt I can keep up with you."

Ulon grinned. "Right. You've never been through basic training."

"I haven't."

That made two  _technically_ true statements in a row, he realized. He should probably be shutting up now.

"Lemme tell ya. 0430. Day Two. It's hard to _walk_ slow enough to keep up with 'em."

"I'm not _that_ bad," he laughed.

"Well, it's okay if you are. It's a skill, and I have it."

Well. He seemed to be out of excuses.

"Promise me you won't wear me out before this dance party? That's cardio, too, you know."

"I promise."

"Okay. Meet you in the lounge?"

Ulon smiled even wider. Maybe even a little evil. He leaned against the bulkhead looking smug. He swept his eyes over Bel's body, and nodded at the untouched PT uniform, sitting on the luggage rack, still neatly folded.

 

* * *

 

 


	9. The First Attempt

* * *

 

Aside from the trainers, the only shoes he had were his heavy, thick-soled boots. Which would have been perfectly fine for dancing, if he were like, eighteen. But his tight new satin pants looked surprisingly good tucked into them: kinda macho, kinda slutty, only slightly inappropriate for a ~~thirty-two~~ twenty-eight year old man. Kind of like the flimsy, sleeveless shirts he'd picked up. He pulled on the least flashy of the bunch.

He shook light Naboovian flower oil onto his fingers and ran them through his hair until his curls popped a little. He blushed at himself in the mirror. He looked good. He looked fucking hot.

Conspicuously hot, maybe; he felt a little self-conscious about joining the older rebels. Maybe he should cover up a little. He pulled the new jacket on and looked at himself. _Damn_. It looked _really_ good with the hair. Damn.

But. Who was he kidding? It was twenty fucking degrees out and he was going _dancing_. He hung it back over the chair. He wrestled himself into something like a straight face and stepped out to meet the kybucks and the teasing they had in store for him.

 

They were waiting for him in the lounge. Tana greeted him with a piercing wolf whistle, and bless her, she was dolled up, too. She was wearing something tight and shiny and a lot lower-cut than people her age were generally comfortable with. Her tight curls were brushed out into an impressive silver halo, sparkling with -

"Is that _glitter_?"

"Be finding it for weeks," Bunny confirmed.

He growled at Tana, grasped her firmly and dipped her back, dropping a kiss at the neckline of her dress, where cleavage would have been if she'd had any to speak of.

"Nice to see someone else has their dance panties on."

"Who said I have any panties on?"

He cocked an eyebrow at Bunny. "Does she?"

Bunny just patted Ulon's shoulder in sympathy and turned toward the hatch.

 

It was a few minutes' walk across the tarmac to the resort. Bel and Tana walked ahead, shimmying and wiggling their butts at their plain-clothed partners.

"Don't get too excited," she said. "These resort things can be kinda lame."

"I bet."

 ...

 

It was a little underwhelming. Not a proper club, just an all purpose ballroom in the resort, dressed up for what was probably a weekly occasion. But it was dark, lit mainly by colorful, abstract holos, and there was music. Of a sort. Poppy music that one _could_ dance to, if one were dedicated to the cause. But then, it was early yet. He sucked down a hard cherry soda and set out to try to make Ulon jealous enough to join him dancing.

He danced with some of the vets, and with some ladies from another ship. He noticed a few younger folks starting to trickle in, noticed some eyes on him, too. He slipped up behind Pearl to steal her away from her husband for a bit, but she slipped to the side and pulled the two of them together. They smiled at one another and got down to gratifying her request. The guy proved to be a pretty good dancer, much more so than his soft, middle-aged presentation suggested.

"Do you really like dancing with other guys," he yelled, "or does she like to watch?"

"Both!"

So he stopped holding back. The guy was actually very good, and a lot of fun. Bel looked over his shoulder.

"Is Ulon gonna be jealous? That I'm dancing with you?"

"Not enough to get his ass out here! Believe me, I've tried!"

Bel grinned and nodded toward Ulon conspiratorially. The guy cackled, and they approached him together, beckoning with their fingers. He buried his face, but they took him by the elbows and dragged him onto the floor. They took turns with him, showing off their moves as if they were competing for his favors, until Pearl's husband graciously conceded. He bowed and backed away into the little crowd of admirers that had gathered around them, who were delighted to have him join them.

 

He only tortured Ulon for few minutes longer, then took mercy and led him to the bar.

"I owe you one, for being such a good sport. What are you having?"

"Light ale. And you didn't give me much choice!"

"Sorry," he pouted. "Maybe you can take it out on me somehow. Later."

To his surprise, Ulon didn't blush; he just nodded slowly.

_Oh. Well, that looks like a yes. Well, then._

What would he do, he wondered. His stomach flipped a little at the thought of the most appropriate punishment: of being commanded to dance _in private_. Some people were into that, but. It had never seemed erotic, to him. More like awkward and embarrassing. Although the growing tightness in his pants suggested that maybe Bel didn't mind that sort of thing.

_Gross, man, why you gotta be such a weirdo?_

Tana took a drink break too, finding them and letting Bel buy her a hard citra soda. They watched the space filling up. More young people were trickling in. Good-looking young people. Really well-dressed, good-looking young people.

Ulon was watching him watch them.

"Sorry," he mouthed.

_Told you I was a jerk._

"You notice something about these kids?"

"Yeah, they all looked like they just stepped out of _Teen Style_ or something."

Tana pulled her head back in dramatic offense. "When's the last time you watched _Teen Style?_ "

Both men shrugged.

"You should watch it. Seriously."

"Okay," they agreed, halfheartedly.

"Seriously."

"Okay."

She rolled her eyes, sucked down the rest of her drink, and strutted back out onto the floor.

"Another one?" Bel offered, but Ulon shook his head and nodded toward the exit. They walked out into the warm, dry night air.

 

"You're seriously gonna leave me alone here with all those handsome young things?"

"Those things are my _students'_ age."

"Your students that pretty?"

"No. Buncha rich brats from the Core," he muttered, nodding back toward the party.

" _Meeyow_." Maybe he _was_ jealous. "Hey. None of those brats are gonna get a goodnight kiss."

"Is that so," Ulon grinned, as if he were amused by the thought.

"I mean, if you want, I'll come over after and give you a lot more than a kiss. But - I'm probably gonna be kinda drunk, and you probably don't want me waking you up..."

"No, you have fun. I'll see you at brunch tomorrow. Don't miss it. You don't want to miss the Noonday Miracles."

"There are miracles?"

"Ha. You really never got an itinerary, huh?"

"No. What kind of miracles?"

"Apparently, Stk'ka makes a guaranteed hangover cure. Only available for a couple hours tomorrow during brunch."

"Oh, no, I definitely don't want to miss that."

They pulled together, hands on one another's hips, and kissed lightly.

"Have fun with the brats. Show 'em how it's done."

"And you have fun with..." he tried to remember the title of the professional improvement book, but all he could picture were primary colors and untouched pages. "...the pedagogy of sports. Or whatever."

"Oh, you're gonna pay for _that_."

"Oh?"

"I should make you read it out loud."

"No! Oh, Force, no, I don't think I'm even neurologically capable of that. Like, just looking at it made my brain stop working."

"Takes one to know one." Ulon ran his thumb over Bel's jaw, gazing at his face.

"This is you without your brain? You mean you're even more of a nerd when I'm _not_ around?"

"The worst," he agreed.

They kissed, deeper and hotter than any of their previous kisses, fueled in part by the drinks they'd had and in part by tight clothes and mild jealousy. They fell against the side of the building, groping and squeezing. An arriving partygoer whistled at them.

_I should go. Kiss. See you tomorrow. Kiss. Have fun. Kiss. Be good. Kiss. Not too good..._

 ...

 

After three drinks, he needed to hit the fresher on his way back. He heard someone else enter behind him, whispering and giggling, and a moment later the click of a pipe and the faint smell of spice.

"Hey," he said casually, as he washed his hands.

" _Heyy_ ," one of them purred, sounding less stoned than sultry. Bel bit his lip, trying not to look smug; what were they, twenty?

"Smells good."

"Wanna hit?"

He winked as he wrapped his lips around the pipe.

_Jackass! Are you fucking flirting with them? Shut the fuck up!_

"Where you guys from?" he croaked.

_Not guys, honey. Kids._

"School trip."

"What school?"

"We're engineering students," the other answered. "Came to tour some of the next-gen manufacturing facilities here."

"Yeah, they cleaned the place up real nice."

"You here on the _Queen Lolla_?"

He shook his head as he inhaled again.

"The _Cloud of Clozen._ "

The seemingly alpha of the two narrowed his eyes a bit, but the other laughed.

"What, are you here with your grandparents or something?"

Most of the vets were actually closer to his parents' age. Either he was looking _really_ good tonight, or _they_ were flirting with _him_. Or both.

"Nah, I crashed their trip by accident. I'm - I'm actually traveling alone."

_Holy fuck you jerk you are flirting!_

"Really," handsome young thing A grinned back, seeming very pleased with this news. And then, a moment later, unreasonably _dis_ pleased when Bel drank water out of the faucet.

"That's unsanitary."

"Dude, you're sharing a pipe with a stranger."

"Not the same. If you're thirsty, c'mon, let us buy you a drink."

"If you insist."

 

They hung close to him all night, which was flattering. Tana had picked up a few pretty young things of her own, and when they occasionally caught sight of one another they winked and air-fived across the floor. Eventually she was there to try to collect him. But it wasn't time yet, he objected.

"We've got like half an hour."

"My feet aren't gonna make it that long, honey."

"Ten more minutes?"

She made A and B, as he'd started thinking of them, promise to make him go in _twenty minutes_. She fixed him with a last hard stare, under which he crossed his heart and swore to watch the time.

 

And he meant it. He had to be on time, had to make manifest, he had no choice. Otherwise he'd be-

He froze.

- _stuck here_. Shit. The captain wouldn't wait for him, surely. And almost everyone else would be asleep. This- this could be his chance.

He gave a thought to the jacket he'd left behind. It was a shame; it was nice and looked _really_ good on him. But he could get another. He had plenty of money.

He wondered if he had a chance of stowing away on another ship, in case they did try looking for him.

_Hm._

He puckered his lips at A and jerked his head toward the fresher. _Wanna smoke some more?_  Unsurprisingly, they did.

The utilitarian facility sparkled before his eyes as he took another hit; this was more than he'd ever smoked before in his life. He ran his eyes over the boys hungrily, letting his gaze linger on A's fly.

"Yeah," A rasped, "That's right," and started crowding Bel toward one of the stalls.

"Not _here_ ," he hissed. "This is a public fresher."

"Where, then," A scowled.

"I know you've got private berths back there, c'mon."

The boys chuckled at one another.

"Your mom's gonna be mad if we keep you out late."

"She's pretty obviously not my mom."

"Just sayin." A pushed him up against a pillar. "If you come back with us, you're gonna be out _real_ late."

_Exactly._

 

* * *

 


	10. Busted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first attempt to escape the scum cruise is ill-advised.
> 
> CW for [redacted] homophobic language. (Also pretty gross xenophobia, but the SW species to which it applies has no analogue in the real world. And they're practically a blank slate in wookiepedia, so pretty much everything the author says about them is unmitigated bullshit.)

* * *

 

He'd been lit up and light-footed on the dance floor, but the night air hit his face like tactical knockout gas. It was okay, though; he didn't need to know where they were going. He closed his eyes and let them guide him, stumbling across the tarmac. He just had to keep them occupied for a while. Once they'd gotten off he could pass out. They'd kick him out at some point, but the _Cloud_ would be gone, by then.

 

 _Nasty fuckers_ , he heard one of them mutter.

"Whosa nassy ffucker," he slurred, as they jostled him.

He thought he heard his name, in scritchy scratchy voices that felt warm in his heart. He looked up and tried to focus.

 _Goldenrule!_ A broad smile broke out reflexively, even as his stoned brain scrambled for an excuse. _We're just gonna go look at... some... thing. I'll be back in time, don't wait up, you guys should really go get some sleep..._ Of course, they didn't exactly _sleep_ , as such.

 

Fuck.

His heart sank as he realized he was _busted_.

Fuck.

 

"Shit, guys, isslater than I thought. I gotta go."

"Not with them, you don't." The handsome young things clung to his elbows.

"No, rilly. M'sorry. I gotta go."

"I'm afraid he does," one of the Culisetto apologized. "He's the last one; the crew are waiting."

"Nuh-uh. You keep your filthy mandibles off him."

His body stiffened as a bolt of adrenaline cut through the druggy haze.

"The fuck did you just say?" He stared at B, sure he hadn't heard him correctly.

"You heard him," A sneered, not at Bel but at the couple. "Find yourself someone else to _incubate_ tonight."

His eyes widened as outrage surged in his veins. He gaped at Goldenrule, at a loss for words.  He wanted to yell at them to _run_ , but of course they couldn't; they were in their thirties, elderly and fragile. If they tried to run they'd probably break something.

"G-go on," he stammered, nodding toward their ship. "I'm fine. Go on, on back. I'll be fine. We're jus-just gonna have a little talk, here." The couple backed away as he tried to do the same, tugging the boys back with him.

 

"Fucking let go of me, ------," B spat, twisting away and shoving him.

"The _fuck?!_ " He lunged toward B, only to be caught in the other's grasp; he bounced back and spun around and turned his demand on A.

"What the fuck are you talking about, we were gonna - you _wanted_ to!"

"I know." A's teeth were bared in disgust. "Can't believe I almost put my dick in that."

He feinted at A, startling him, and tore out of his grasp when he flinched. His limbs were tense and his fists were ready, even as he tried to back away from whatever the fuck was going on, here.

"Where you going? Something about to hatch?"

"I don't know what was in that shit you were smoking, man. I don't think you know what you're saying."

"Were you gonna tell me first, or were you just gonna shit your eggs all over my floor?"

"Seriously. Stop talking."

"Or what, ------?"

 

It felt like slow motion. His arm moved so slowly he had plenty of time to realize what a mistake this might be, and also to realize that he really had no fucking choice. His fist connected with an unsatisfying biff, and he leapt forward to blunt the uppercut he expected in response. It was just as sloppy as his own punch, and he felt the guy's elbow fold as he overshot and stumbled out ahead of his feet and sprawled on the tarmac. He felt his sheer, sparkly top snagging on the rough surface as he rolled into a crouch. He was on his feet as they closed on him again.

"What's the matter, scum? Gonna be late for your _egg deposit_?"

 

He honestly couldn't tell if they were fixated on the bizarre, xenophobic insult because they were stoned assholes who thought it was funny, or if they really believed it were true.

"Why do you keep saying that?"

"Why do you keep fucking insects?"

"They're not insects!" Although the distinction between insect and insectoid was almost certainly lost on the pair. "And they don't fuck. They fertilize and brood-"

A had heard enough; he exploded with a new round of somewhat more coordinated blows. Bel's best chance was to keep him close; rather than parrying he grabbed and wrestled A to the ground.

"-externally, you idiot." He was breathing hard, but not hard enough to stop lecturing as they rolled on the ground. "They don't fuck, _ow, fuck_ , and if they did, it wouldn't - _ngh_ \- be with anyone but each - _oof_ \- each other, dumbass."

B was grabbing ineffectually at his arms, trying to pull him off, cursing and spitting ugly epithets, _no right to sell out the human race, you bugfucking whore, get the fuck off him, ------._

 

Bel felt a bit out of his body, watching it engage in the fight with practice buried deep in his nerves. His brain, or the part that was actually working, was busy rattling on with this biology lecture for what were surely deaf ears. Not to be heard, but to talk over them, to block out the insults.

"They mate for life - _ow_ \- they bond so deeply they - _ow, fuck_ \- become practically a single consciousness. If they don't - _uhf, you fucker_ \- find a mate by the time-" His head hit the tarmac, and his head spun for a second. He kicked with his boots and scrabbled with his hands.  _"-by the time of sexual maturity,"_ he gritted out, "they remain celibate for life. Often bonding with a friend or sibling. You ignorant fucking _asshole_."

"Is that right," A grinned down at him. "So all we have to do is keep them segregated for a couple years, and they'll just die out?"

He blinked. 

_Did he just..._

There was just that hateful smile, and the world around them washed out in that red, murderous veil from the _Finalizer_. There was rage in his hands, hatred, _power_.

Then A was on his back, Bel's fingers twisted into the flesh of his face and ears, and the clunk of his skull against the tarmac sang through his fingers. It would just be a matter of one, two, three: crunch, crack, smush; his skull would fail, his brain would hemorrhage, he'd be as good as dead. _Four_ would finish him off. His hands were on fire with murderous desire.

Somewhere behind him, B was kicking at his flank and swearing, and he managed to appreciate how lucky he was that they'd worn fashionable, thin-soled shoes fit for dancing. Because pain that wasn't a threat was really no pain at all.

He didn't know how long he was frozen there with A's life in his hands; just that his fingers bunching up the flesh of his face like fabric kept him from fucking talking.

 

He didn't even notice that the kicking had stopped over the throbbing and stinging it left behind on his body. But he heard someone talking, someone familiar, someone he should listen to...

"Get off him, you fucking brats."

_Bunny?_

She was scraping on the ground with B.

"Go back to your - _uff_ \- little academy, and tell 'em some rebel scum sent you."

"Fucking -----, what do you get for whoring out human boys? Money, or just getting them out of the way?"

"Watch your fucking mouth, fascist fucking puke."

Bel snarled down at A. "Is that where you're from? Fucking _Arkanis_?"

"Am wight," he growled through Bel's fingers, still mangling his face. "Hime iv gonna come foon, fcum, when oo affa defide wha fide oo're on."

Bel snorted. "Yeah, well if I had a face like yours I'd join the First Order, too."

"Oo _oo_ ave a fafe wike wine!"

 _Point_ , he supposed. The old rebel drinking song derided Imperial bucketheads, not handsome young officers in training.

"Not if I tear it off," he growled, twisting harder.

"Auughow, fuck!"

 _Can't believe I almost put my dick in that,_  he wanted to taunt, oh, it would be such a good line right now. But there was a chance that Bunny didn't know that, didn't know why he was here in the first place. So he just smiled lewdly and rutted against the trapped cadet.

"Oo wake we _fick._ "

"I'll show you _sick_." He heaved and drooled in A's face, and the cadet squealed in horror. Bel laughed, realizing there was probably enough booze sloshing around in his stomach to actually make himself vomit if he tried. "It's a little trick you learn if you _suck enough xeno cock,_ " he lied. He heaved again and A screamed under him, thrashing desperately.

"I could fucking kill you right now. Or leave you with enough brain damage that you'll never even  _walk_ straight."

"Bel! Shit, no, wait for security to get here, don't do anything stupid."

He seethed down at A.

"You know what I did to the last guy that called me ------? I cut his fucking dick off and watched him bleed out on the floor. Is that what you want?"

A's eye - the one that didn't have one of Bel's fingers hooked into the eyelid - went wide, not sure whether to believe him or not.

 

"Settle down, boys, they're on their way. I see the lights," Bunny was saying. She was trying to sound placating, though she was still grunting with the effort of restraining B. "No one wants to get arrested. No one wants to miss their flights. Let's just calm the fuck down here..."

 

Bel leaned in close and whispered, "I know what you want." The cadet strained to get away from his mouth. "That's why you're so _obsessed_ with my fucking eggs, isn't it? Because you want it. _You wwaannt it_."

A heaved, like maybe he was going to be sick, himself. Bel humped against the arm trapped between his legs and the guy's body, and muttered low and dirty in his ear, "You just want to be pumped full of slimy yellow eggs. So full it hurts. Don't you? _Don't you?_ "

" _Fftop_ ," he whined.

"You want take good care of them, like a good mama, until the larvae hatch and... _sslither out_." He licked into A's ear, and A howled, and struggled back with a renewed burst of panic. Bel let go, laughing, and tried to break away, but A grabbed his shirt. It tore, but slowed him enough for the cadet to grab his calf, and he fell hard against the tarmac. A was on him in an instant, fists and curses flying, which is how the blinding blue lights of the resort's security team found them.

 

"Freeze! Don't move! Don't fucking move!"

They froze.

"Hands on your Force-damned heads! Now!"

_Fuck._

A chill ran through his body as he realized how close he had come to actually killing the guy. He wasn't even sure yet how well his new ID would stand up under charges of prostitution or larceny. _Murder_ would surely see him in a Navy brig within days, if not hours.

_Fuck._

The guards prodded them apart with long, thin stun batons.

"Keep your hands on your heads. On your knees. Facing me."

The four brawlers squinted into the blinding lights. One of the lights asked them one by one what vessels they belonged to, before conferring for approximately aeons with one of the other lights. Then it was back in their faces.

"I want you all to think very carefully before you answer me. Does anyone here want to press charges no good I think you're making the right decision. You two from the _Cloud,_ on your feet keep your _hands_ on your _heads_."

 

They were prodded in the direction of the yacht, with one of the guards keeping pace a few steps behind them. They were a good twenty meters away when they heard the other two being dispatched.

"Are you okay?" he asked Bunny. She was tough, but hell, she had to be sixty.

"Ha. Yeah. I had the little one. How about you?"

"I'm not sure. There's still a lot of, um, adrenaline, and stuff." The guard hadn't said they could put their hands down, and it was hard to talk without them.

"And stuff, huh?"

He sighed.

"I'm sorry. I drank too much and. Well. They were assholes. Obviously. But fuck. Thanks for saving my fucking ass. Kriff."

"Looked more like I was saving  _their_ fucking asses."

"Naw, I'm fulla shit. You gotta bluff with those guys. Fucking chickenshits."

"Right. They wouldn't be what they are if they weren't scared of... well, everything."

"Exactly."

"So how did it start?"

"Pff. They said some racist shit about my grandparents."

She looked at him. Racist? Really? She would have pegged him for fullblooded human, and a damned fine specimen at that. Exactly the sort of human the neos extolled as  _superior._  He may have been born here, but he was clearly of Core ancestry; he almost looked Alderaanian.

"The fuck did they say about your grandparents?"

He turned to her with wide eyes and a sort of open-mouthed pout, utterly indignant and appealing to her own sense of outrage.

"They said they wanted to lay eggs up my butt!"

And then he staggered into her shoulder, snorting in laughter, because when he put it  _that_ way it didn't sound ugly or threatening, it just sounded ridiculous.

"Stand up! Hands on your head! Keep walking!"

"Okay, okay, cool your kriffing boosters. Shit, Bunny, that's just fucking _stupid_."

"Well, they're neo-imperialists. Stupid kinda goes with the territory."

"Mm. Stupid and scared. Scared and stupid." It came out as a little sing-song.

"Can I ask you something, Bel?"

"Mm?"

"You can tell me; I won't judge. Are you - are you _high_?"

He snorted again, _so busted_.

"A little," he admitted.

She chuckled and nudged his elbow with hers.

"You're alright, kid."

"I am not. Not alright."

"No? I'm sure the nurse is still up; we'll get you checked out."

"No no no, I'm fine _physically_. Physically," he muttered again. He stopped and turned back to the other blue light escorting the cadets back to their ship.

_"YOU KNOW THEY WON'T LET YOU SMOKE SPICE IN THE FIRST ORDER, ASSHOLES!"_

"TURN THE FUCK AROUND!" responded the light behind them.

 

He shut up until the guard delivered them to a bored ensign. They left the two of them gossiping at the bottom of the ramp and stumbled up into the ship. Bunny turned left toward the cabins, colliding with Bel turning right toward the lounge.

"I gotta buy you a drink, Bunny. For bailing me out and kicking ass."

"Let's get you cleaned up first."

"Drink first?"

"Let's change your clothes, at least."

"Okay," he huffed, and they swayed arm in arm back to his cabin.

 

"Sit down. C'mon, lets get those boots off. So you can change into something clean."

He groaned.

"Did you hit your head at all?"

"Nope."

"You sure?" She ran her fingers over his scalp. It stung a little at the back, but if there was a lump she didn't feel it.

"Yup. I got good reflexes."

"Hmf. Okay, c'mon, boots."

He toed them off, and then toed uselessly at his socks, without purchase.

"C'mere." She swung his feet up, swinging his torso down onto the bed.

"Okay but we're getting a drink."

"Yep. After you change."

She pulled his socks off, and the air between his toes felt bright white and clear, like high, clean atmosphere. Like he was being buoyed upward by his toes, like he was breathing through his toes. Like he was drinking clean, fresh water through his toes.

"Wadder?"

"All over it, kiddo."

    _Thank you, Mom. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Mom. I'm so sorry._

 

* * *

 

_Panic_

She stopped in her tracks, pressing fingertips to her heart.

"Your Highness?"

"A moment, please."

"May I divert you to the medical facilities?"

She held up a hand for patience.

_Rage_

"Threepio. Please continue to the briefing and tell Acting Commander Wexley I will join you momentarily."

"If you insist, Your Highness."

"I do."

_Rage_

She pressed her back to the wall, pressed her palms to the wall behind her.

_Murderous, bloodthirsty rage_

_Hate_

"No, Poe, please," she whispered.

_Hate_

_Gleeful, giddy hate_

"No, please, where are you?"

... he was gone.

 

 

* * *

 


	11. Noonday Miracles

* * *

 

Poe Dameron floated in a calm, warm sea. There were good feelings there. Gratitude. Pride. Like someone, somewhere, was extraordinarily pleased with him.

 

* * *

 

Bel Otaale woke with guilt as his bedmate. Eventually, he knew, he would have to open his eyes and ask it how it got there. But not yet, he wheedled his conscience. A little more sleep, and he'd be in better shape to face whatever it was. He rolled over, and the motion was enough to set his head spinning and pounding. He pressed his face into the pillow and fell into the flashing hyperspace channels behind his eyes.

 

...

 

The hangover was bad enough. But there was also the nasty little gloom he recognized as the comedown from spice. A bleak sort of insecurity, as if confidence were some finite measure, and he used it all up while he was high.

Not that he needed any help feeling shitty. Something had happened last night... there was water beside his bunk, and gray sweats. These people really liked giving him clothes. Useful, unattractive clothes.

Bunny. Bunny had put him to bed... they had almost gotten arrested for something. It had been funny... right? Bunny thought it was funny and she hardly ever laughed. It must have been good...

Oh.

Oh, no, no. No, no, no.

He searched, desperately, for some missing piece of memory that would justify the pieces he had. Maybe it wasn't what it looked like... but no. No, it was exactly what it looked like.

_What the fuck was I thinking?_

Of course they weren't going to leave without him. What the hell had he been thinking? Had he really been that hammered? His throbbing skull said yes, yes he had. The gloom reminded him that that was no excuse.

They wouldn't have left without him; they would have expanded the search until they found him, probably on his hands and knees between the two cadets. The two _imperialist_ cadets.

His stomach lurched, waves of sweaty cold rippled across his body, water-thin saliva gathered under his tongue. Standing up was like smashing his skull into a steel bar, and he stumbled blindly to the fresher. He puked up a little bile, but there was nothing else in his stomach. The booze had all been absorbed and processed into toxic little aldehydes that were currently polluting his bloodstream, spreading out to infiltrate every cell in his body, to leave no part of him free from pain.

He drank some water and waited for it to come back up. It look less than a minute, and his tummy felt a little better afterward.

He settled gingerly back into the bunk.

_Oh, fuck._

Even if they hadn't been junior fash. Even if they'd been perfectly nice, non-genocidal boys, studying engineering to make the galaxy a better place for _all_ its inhabitants.

Still. What a shitty thing to do to the scum. What a shitty thing to do to _Ulon_.

_Oh, gods, fuck._

Did he know? He would be so... _mad_ , he wanted to think. But that was banthashit. He would be hurt. And embarrassed.

He couldn't anymore. He hugged one of his pillows and curled up and wished it would all go away.

 

...

 

It didn't go away, exactly, but he gradually wrapped his head around the fact that if Bunny had known what he'd been trying to do, she wouldn't have put him to bed so kindly; she'd have finished him off herself. And if she didn't know, Ulon didn't know; probably no one knew.

He tried to remember what, exactly Goldenrule had witnessed. Maybe they thought the boys had just been helpfully walking him back. Or maybe... maybe _he'd_ thought that's what they were doing. That just made him a drunk naif who'd nearly gotten himself taken advantage of. Not a- not a _cheater_. Not a _slut_.

Not a _coward_ , who'd tried to run away from the vets because they reminded him too much of everyone _else_ he'd run away from.

And just like on his first day with them, hiding wasn't going to help. Hiding was just going to attract more attention. And there was supposedly a hangover cure waiting in the lounge. So. His mission was to crawl out there and order one, to be sheepish about his own naivete, and to be grateful to Bunny for saving his skin. It wasn't much of a stretch.

 

He was still in his clubby little getup from last night. The pants were torn but salvageable - it was kind of a look. But the sparkly little top was in tatters, and something about that was deeply humiliating. He balled it up angrily in his hands and looked away.

He didn't know why it hurt to look at. After all, he'd held his own in the fight, maybe too well. And most people would see more virtue in that than in fucking _fashion_. Poe certainly would have.

But the shredded little wad in his hands pierced his pride. Like maybe he wasn't really pretty enough to pull off that kind of gear. He remembered setting out last night with Tana, both of them feeling so sexy and confident. It had been fun, the lightest his heart had felt in his brief new life. He'd managed to forget, for a bit, why he was here. And maybe that was his real sin: thinking for a moment that he could be happy.

Or maybe it just reminded him how vulnerable he was, alone out on the rougher edges of the galaxy. How fragile his good looks could be, if he kept getting in that kind of trouble. And his looks were all he really had, now.

 

He did a quick inventory. There was a bump on the back of his head, but at least his face seemed fine. None of the progress his ribs had made had been set back, which was a surprise and a relief. It had only been... he counted on his fingers. Eight days? Nine? It should have been much worse.

_Crunch. Crack. Smoosh._

He stared at his fingers. He hadn't done it, but he had the sense memory of it as surely as if he had.

_He felt his heart swell in his chest, his arteries sing with iron and oxygen._

He stared at his wrists, his forearms.

_...this sense of strength flowing through him, almost like he could flex his arms and rip them out of the restraints..._

_No. That wasn't real. Get your fucking head on, kiddo._

"No," he said out loud, and then laughed feebly at himself. _Someone_ had obviously watched the _Trilogy_ one too many times. For the third time that morning he curled back into his bunk. Even the luxe mattress stung against his bruised hips, _shit_ , that asshole had really kicked the shit out of him. He rubbed his hands together, trying to rub away the false memory of murder. Afraid to close his eyes, he stared at the glossy white wall.

When he started shaking, it didn't worry him and he didn't try to stop. It felt good.

 

...

 

He pulled on the ugly gray sweats before he even tried to look at himself in the mirror. And even _those_ managed to look good on him, showing just the right amount of collarbone, hanging just so off his ass, showing it off without looking like he was trying. Which he definitely wasn't.

He looked tired. He tried to smile. He looked at all the little lines that people seemed to adore so much and imagined them deeper, permanent. His nose had healed quickly, too, he realized, and he pawed at his skin, asking his reflection if its jaundicey pallor could be from something more than just the booze. Bloodshot and baggy eyes promised him it was just that, just a hangover, perfectly natural and temporary.

He took a last draught of whatever passed for courage, now, and went out to meet his fate.

...

 

His fate was surprisingly subdued. There were only a handful of vets up in the lounge, and half of those appeared to be sleeping on the couches. The other half nodded heavy-lidded over tall, sea-foamy drinks. Stk'ka greeted him from behind the bar, which also served as an informal concierge.

"You the one that had such a good time last night?"

"Ungh."

"You need to see Nurse Jood?"

"Nah. I'm fine. Just - hung over."

"Seriously. He gets bored. He's got a closet full of scanners gathering dust."

"Maybe later."

She handed him a tumbler of pale-green liquid, rimmed with a handful of fruit wedges, and wished him well.

He found a seat, nodding at a couple of the other recoverees. He sucked on the drink and ate the fruit and hoped dearly that everyone else was too fucked up to remember much or want to talk about it. The drink did taste like it was probably pretty healthy. When he finished it, he slid down onto the couch and covered his face with his arm and went back to sleep.

 

...

 

"How you feeling, hot stuff?"

He answered Ulon with a raspy groan and pulled his feet back to make room for him to sit.

"That good, huh?" Ulon pulled Bel's feet into his lap and took a long, satisfied slurp of his drink. Bel peeked out under his elbow. The guy was in kriffing PTs, looking pink and cheerful.

"Don't tell me you went _running_ this morning."

"Okay. I won't."

"Ugh. I don't think you deserve a Miracle if you don't need one."

Ulon hummed and touched one of the fruit slices to Bel's lips, and he couldn't help but smile into it. He nibbled it delicately out of the man's fingers.

 

He felt a dip on the edge of the couch and heard Tana clucking sadly. "Bel, honey, I am so sorry."

He looked out from under his arm again.

"You kidding, darlin'? _I'm_ sorry."

"I shouldn't have left you there." She leaned down and hugged him. He wrapped his arms around her, and she relaxed, her weight across his body. She was so light.

"I should have gone with you when you asked. I was stupid. I'm sorry." He kissed her head.

"Wait, did something happen?" Ulon asked.

"Sort of."

"Sort of? Are you okay?"

Tana slid down to sit on the floor and rested her head on his hip. His very bruised hip.

"I kinda. Got in a fight," he said quietly.

" _What?_ With who?"

"I'm fine. Only because Bunny saved my hide."

"That's not what _I_ heard," said Tana. "I heard you put the fear of fucking Yammka into them."

"Damn right he did." There was Bunny, bearing two of the tonics. "Sure hope this shit works. How you feeling, knuckles?"

"Terrible."

"Bet you're feeling better than the guy who woke up with shit-stained shorts and some very colorful images in his head."

" _Force_ ," Ulon begged, "will you _tell me what happened_?"

Bunny leaned back in her seat.

"So, it's getting late. Party's winding down, less than an hour to liftoff." She set the scene, settling into the story with the relish of someone about to tell a real cracker. "Goldenrule volunteer to go round up the stragglers, because, you know, don't drink, don't sleep, whatever.

"So they find _this_ guy leaving the party, saying goodnight to some of those kids. You know," her voice dropped ominously, "the _well-dressed_ ones." For someone so characteristically laconic, she could tell a story.

"And these kids... make some unkind remarks toward our dear friends and comrades."

"Unkind, my ass. They were fucking racist."

"Tch. Who's telling this story?"

_You. Definitely you._

"Sorry."

"Wait, what did they say?"

"Not worth repeating," Bel spoke again.

"No, not worth repeating. So then this guy," she paused, and even with his arm over his face he knew she was jerking her thumb at him. " _This_ guy. Says to this asshole, _hey, those are my grandparents you're talking about_ , and punches him in the face!"

Soft little exclamations came not just from Ulon, but from around the room, from half-awake people who'd been sucked into the story. Sounds of surprise mixed with amusement and admiration and concern.

 

He knew what she was doing. Tightening up the story for posterity. Making it easier to retell, and worth telling. Cleaning up his part in it. Not to be charitable to _him_ , but for the sake of the general morale. The vets would take the story home with them and tell their friends, and some of them would tell _their_ friends, and it would warm and embolden the hearts of good people dismayed by the power the First Order was amassing.

It was a good story; it was a real good story. And every word of it pricked at him, reminding him of what he wasn't.

"Serious? You really said that?" Concern vied with delight in Ulon's voice.

"It was just... impulse. It was stupid."

"Maybe it was but. Damn."

He peeked out; Ulon was _beaming_ at him.

"Psh. They were about to wipe the floor with me til this lady showed up and pulled my buns out of the fire."

"Psh yourself. All I did was keep you from hurting that guy bad enough to get arrested."

"Fucking owe you for that."

"But _are you alright?_ " Ulon insisted. "Both of you?"

"Bumps and scratches, I'm fine."

"She is," Tana confirmed.

"But knuckles, here, passed out before I could really do a full assessment."

"Well, shit, lemme go get the nurse."

"Lonnie. Honey. You _taught_ first aid for years."

"That's different; that was-"

"Combat medicine?"

"Yeah, I- oh."

And at least for the moment, even the profound gloom was no match for his amusement. Bel peeked out once more, grinning despite himself, and bit his tongue about _playing doctor_ because it would be ridiculous to have both of them here blushing into their hands.

"You have a first aid kit in your day pack?"

"Of course."

"I bet it's fully stocked and well organized."

"Yeah," Ulon replied shyly, as if he were admitting to something. And oh, there was the blush.

Bel held out his skinned palms.

"Oh shit, buddy. Yeah, I can take care of that."

Bel sat up with a sincere groan. He leaned down and kissed Tana's head. "Good luck with the glitter, girl."

She wiped a speck off his nose and kissed it.

He turned to Bunny. "Seriously. Thank you."

"Seriously. That story is its own reward." Something somber crossed her face. He acknowledged it with a curt, tight-lipped nod, and got to his feet with weary _oof_.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***note contains extremely vague sort-of spoiler for _Poe Dameron_ #19***  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
>  lol so I just read _Poe Dameron_ #19 and I _swear_ I wrote that bit about Bunny massaging the story for posterity weeks ago. However... this was just supposed to be the first half of this chapter, but it was already stupid long, and I'm hung up on some of the pillow talk in the next bit, so I was thinking about cutting it here anyway, and the comic ending on a similar note just seemed like a sign.


	12. He Shook It and It Shined Like Gold

* * *

Ulon turned to him as the door shut. His eyes were wide and dark.

"Do you have any idea. How hot you are right now."

"Yeah, hungover mess is one of my top five Looks."

"A beautiful, _brave_ hungover mess."

"I'm not brave. It was just an impulse. I was drunk."

"Exactly. There's truth in alcohol. It was the impulse of someone with a  _good heart_."

Force, it hurt. He pulled Ulon close, closed his eyes into a warm shoulder. It hurt, but there was nothing to confess. Bunny's version of the story was the only version, now. It was the truth, now.

"I could've gotten someone else hurt. I almost got Bunny arrested."

Ulon lifted his chin to look in his eyes, and stars, he was _smoldering_.

"And she would've considered it a privilege to go to jail for that. So would I. I wish I'd been there."

_So do I._

"Can I kiss you?" Ulon whispered.

"Yeah. But I'm - I'm kinda boozy. I'm sorry."

"I've had worse."

It was electric; Ulon held back, afraid of hurting him, but there was so much heat and passion behind it. Even his kiss was restrained, even as the breath behind it begged for more. His fingers were light and rigid on his hips. Just on the other side of the fabric were the deep masses of still-ripening bruises; Ulon's hesitancy made him feel weightless. Bel pushed one of his hands harder against his body, curled their fingers together, and hissed a little when Ulon followed his lead and squeezed.

"Did that hurt?"

"So good," Bel whispered.

"Please... don't make me punish you for this."

"It's not punishment. Everyone likes that, a little. I mean, don't you ever?" He squeezed again, and sucked in air from Ulon's lips.

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do. Sometimes."

"Think of it as a massage, if you want."

"Okay. But. I really wanna. Wanna look you over, first." But he kept kissing, and and his grip tightened.

_Before what? Before you bend me over that narrow little escritoire?_

But Ulon maneuvered him to the bed instead, and told him to  _sit_. He pulled out a standard infantry field kit; identical but for wear to the one Poe's father had given him when he started spending so much time alone in the woods.

[That one had been battered and stuffed haphazardly with supplies. Poe had gone through the bactagel pretty quickly. He restocked it using his chore money. The little tube of contraband burned in his pocket, like it was beaming out an IR signature, like everyone could see right through his clothes. He tried to act natural by pretending he was a spy for the Rebellion carrying secret data, because the thought of being interrogated by the decade-deceased Vader was far less frightening than anyone figuring out what he'd been doing with it.]

Ulon's kit was newer and just as tidy as he'd predicted. His touch was well-practiced and familiar: gentle enough not to aggravate anything, firm enough to evince crepitus if it were there. His hands moved almost autonomously; his eyes flitted between them and Bel's upper lip, where an involuntary twitch might betray the most stoic patient.

He found the bruise at the back of Bel's head, asked how he got it, looked deep into his eyes for a moment. Bel covered his left eye without being asked, the resigned obedience of someone who figured out a long time ago that the fastest way out of medical is cooperation.

He pulled the sweatshirt off and sat up straight. Ulon's thumb moved down his cervical spine. His hands squeezed his shoulders, his biceps, elbows - another hiss came with that, scrapes and bruises where his elbows had knocked against the tarmac as they rolled on the ground. Ulon held out his fingers and Bel squeezed them without being asked; he knew the drill.

Ulon worked down his spine, pressed on his ribs, hard enough that his breath caught a little; there was something left of the fractures, after all.

"That hurt? You think it's fractured?"

"Nah. Fine."

It more than fine; it was the best news he'd had all day. The room seemed to grow brighter and calmer as the thrum and crackle of plasma between his ears sheathed itself, for the moment.

 

Ulon prodded his kidneys. Laid him back and palpated his abdomen. He tried not to frown at the smattering of bruises and abrasions spreading up from his waistband.

"You drink water this morning?"

"Yeah."

"You pee yet?"

"Just a little."

"Anything unusual?"

"Not for a morning after drinking too much." At least, in his limited experience of it.

Ulon hmmff'd in understanding. He bracketed his palms around Bel's waist.

"I know this is gonna hurt, but I gotta."

"I know."

He squeezed his pelvis side to side, and then each hip front to back. Knelt in front of him and worked his way down his thighs, to bruised and scraped knees that had taken way too much of his weight against the tarmac, much more than they would have if he'd been sober. He held Bel's feet in his hands as he flexed and pedaled obediently.

"Put me in, coach?"

Ulon rolled his eyes. He got up to wash his hands, and then started again from the top with foamy antiseptic wipes and bactagel. He scrubbed Bel's palms; they waited while they fizzed with foamy brown lather.

"Tickles," he offered lamely.

"Yep."

He wiped it away and smeared the scrapes with bactagel and fanned it to dry faster. He turned his hands over to inspect the swelling on his right hand.

"Knuckles, huh?"

"Better than _Scandal_."

"You know she's not easily impressed."

"Hm."

There were a few little scrapes on his back, nothing hardly worth treating, but Ulon's fingers paused there, brushing across the long, pink scars.

"I was waiting for the right time. To ask you about these. I mean, I don't know if now's the right time."

"No, it's fine. Be weird if you didn't ask."

[Kare had been the one to hear the rumor about MSG Hjerjen and his side practice. She told Iolo, and he went to the steel fab shop during lunch hour, justifiably nervous about offending the man if the rumors weren't true. He came away with an appointment for himself and Poe at a studio in a post-industrial neighborhood off post.

He'd inquired about lessons, but all they did the first time was talk, for a couple of hours. They clarified a lot of things about themselves and their relationship. They held hands the whole way home, feeling wrung out and raw and excited at the same time, closer than they'd ever been and yet feeling the distance more acutely than ever. They hadn't made any decisions, just another appointment, but they both suspected where this was going.

Iolo wasn't going to take lessons; he was going to be let off the hook. And he was going to get a lot of sweet, not-quite-vanilla lovemaking for being the best, most generous, understanding boyfriend ever. At least for a few months, until Poe's next promotion became immanent, and they had to decide whether to commit to a declared relationship. 

Rold's soundproof studio had been one of Poe's _truly_ happy places. Seated on a stool, upright and immobile, his arms and legs strapped firmly around a pillar in front of him, his forehead cushioned and likewise cinched in place. There was a thin little leather bit between his teeth, just to bite on. It didn't stop him talking and did nothing to muffle his voice. Sometimes he cried, either in pain, or with the pure too-muchness of it, or in joy and gratitude for finally finding a place where he was safe, where he was free, where he could scream his bloody lungs out.]

"He was a good friend."

"Was?"

"I mean, he's still alive."

"But you're not... together anymore?"

"No, it wasn't like that. I was a client."

"Oh." Ulon inspected the scars more closely.

"Do they mean anything?"

"Like, metaphorically? No. Not on purpose, anyway. It just... hurt." He smiled sadly and added, "A lot."

"Why did you stop seeing him?"

_He joined the Resistance._

[When he did, a few months after the Rapiers, he brought with him two junior techs and a hold full of off-the-books equipment, lathes and lasers and dies. None of the other pilots on D'Qar were particularly attached to steel runs, and were happy to let Poe have them when they saw how relaxed he came back. It wasn't like before, back on Mirrin; it couldn't be. But it was good. Everyone besides the Rapiers assumed he was fucking someone there, and it didn't seem like a point worth clarifying; it was close enough to the truth.]

"You know. People's... things change over time. Their kinks, I mean." He shrugged.

Ulon kissed his shoulder blades and wrapped his arms around him, nuzzling his neck.

"Sorry I'm such a boring old man."

"You're not. You're so good." Bel kissed his forehead. He pulled away and stood, taking Ulon's hands and placing them back on his hips. He ran his thumb under the waistband of the borrowed sweats, asking permission to pull them off. Ulon licked his lips as he nodded.

_He's a good guy. He deserves better than this._

He kicked the sweats away. Ulon's fingers caressed through his undershorts, maddeningly gentle. He knew, now, that he didn't have to be. Maybe he was teasing, or maybe he was demonstrating his own desire. His face certainly wasn't hiding anything. As soon as he was done with the bactagel he was going to go down on him, much more ravenously than the first time.

But first Bel dutifully lifted each knee to be washed and treated. He grinned wider and wider until Ulon finally looked up and noticed.

"What's so funny?"

"Nuthin. Just. Do a good job. Those are a couple of pretty important body parts, right there."

Ulon chuckled but played dumb.

"Thought you weren't into running."

"Running my _mouth_ , maybe." Bel licked his lips loudly. "This isn't just for me, man. Think of how many lives will be affected."

Ulon raised an eyebrow. "Got a number in mind?"

"Yeah." Bel reached down and touched his chin. "One hot little number right here."

Ulon laughed out loud. "That was _terrible_."

"That was brilliant."

"Must be nice."

"What, to come up with lines like that?"

"To be pretty enough to get away with lines like that."

"You're saying it worked, then?"

Ulon capped the bactagel and returned it to its pocket in the kit. He traced Bel's silhouette with his hands.

"This is _all_ working for me."

_Oh, I'll work it for you._

He rolled his hips. He closed his eyes to Ulon's hungry grin, picturing something harder.

_What did you do with them?_

_Show me._

_Show me what you did with them._

He could hear the music from last night, slow and thick through his muddy memory. He swayed in half-time, letting his head fall back, rolling on his shoulders, his hands moving across his torso.

Poe would have hated this. Or rather, he just wouldn't have done it. Maybe, if someone had asked very, very sincerely, he would have tried, for like a minute, unable to keep a straight face, before parlaying it into something more intimate, less demonstrative.

[He'd been proud, yes, but not particularly immodest. He attracted enough attention as it was. _Shameless_ , some people said, whether he wanted that attention or not. Sometimes it was okay. Like after a great run on the sims, when he couldn't resist a victorious little shimmy and finger guns fired at the sky. Or when he charmed his friends' parents, especially their mothers. It's not like he was faking it; he was always eager to meet people from other places, especially if they were old enough to remember the war. Then they could tease him and call him shameless, and it was alright, because after all, he wasn't  _doing_  anything to be ashamed of.

But sometimes. Sometimes, it cut a little too close. Too close to a part of his life that he _refused_ to be ashamed of. Even people who didn't necessarily think he should be, just sort of expected him to be, and called him _shameless_ when he wasn't. It ~~hurt his feelings~~ pissed him off, because, while it was true that he wasn't ashamed, the implication was that he _should_ be.]

 

Was this what it was like? Was this what it meant to be shameless? Swaying between honest hands, flaunting his sins of the night before; he was so sorry, he was _so sorry_. This existence was nothing  _but_  shame. Maybe that's what it meant: that it was just such a constant, like pressure pumped through a ship, like the hum of thrusters, that it disappeared into a conscience-prickling little buzz in the background that was just so easy to ignore.

He swiveled slowly, slipping his body past still, hesitant hands. There was something comforting about it... It wasn't just the syrupy echoes of the dance party in his head, he realized; he was moving to one of Poe's favorite tunes. Tilting his hips to  _Cherie_ , a sultry little folk song about the singer of the same name, one of the first truly galactic postwar superstars.

[People had told Poe all the time that he reminded them of her. He demurred on the basis that his hair wasn't  _that_  fabulous, but there was more to it than that. Maybe it was in the way his lips betrayed that unexpected inner pride, even under eyes that fluttered as if he were shy. His voice was like hers, too: it was the husky lower register that sounded like it was just about to break, while the delicate upper notes held together, soft but confident. His renditions of her songs were beloved by his friends.]

It wasn't just her looks and her voice that had made her a star. It was the way she used her body, a way Poe never had, the way he was trying, now. They said people came in their seats just watching her.

She was from a dinky little moon, too. She was a good girl who loved her mama. When she died, Cherie lost the only certainty in her life. Everyone else wanted something from her, money or glamour or opportunity. She couldn't trust anyone, but she was lonely, and there were a lot of them, eager to shower her with affection.

 

> _There were wild girls from the outer rim_
> 
> _And rich girls from the inner core_
> 
> _Pretty girls who cried that her music saved their lives_
> 
> _They were nothing but whores, he said_
> 
> _They were nothing but whores_

_He_  was her manager. Sleeping around was bad for her image, he said. He put more and more restrictions on her movement and contact with the public, until she was little more than a prisoner in her own career. It wasn't her fans that were the whores, she realized. She was the one who had sold herself. Not just her body, but her art, her soul, her very being.

Late one night, according to legend, she managed to drug her entire staff; theories as to how abounded. While they were passed out, she recorded a press release. She said she was going into retreat to work on her magnum opus, a pop opera about the fall of the Massassi. If the galaxy wanted it to ever see the light of day, they would leave her alone and not try to find her.

 

> _She kicked off her heels and laced up her boots and she cut off her hair_
> 
> _And she ran like a fathier with its tail on fire_
> 
> _And she flew like a draigon queen_
> 
> _She disappeared into the constellations_
> 
> _And she's never been seen, no_
> 
> _No, she's never been seen_

 

He'd been ~~fourteen~~  ten when she disappeared. His generation had romanticized her story terribly. They wrote stories and songs about her new anonymous life: was she having adventures? Performing under pseudonyms? Settling down to farm and raise a family? Finding true love in someone who saw her real self and not the commercial image created around her?

He lifted up to let his ass slide into Ulon's palm, and down again to say _you just hold that_. He pushed his own fingers into his hair, _out of the way,_ arched back, and narrowed his existence down to the orbit of his pelvis between too-gentle hands.

 _Is this good_ , he wanted to ask. Good enough to pay for? _How much would you pay for this?_ But he'd be asking the wrong person, and he kept his mouth shut.

He breathed through his teeth when the bruises rubbed up against stiff hands, and gradually Ulon relented, pressing lightly at first, slowly giving him more and more, til he was playing his body like an instrument, bringing forth moans and sighs and a heavy erection, and his movements had gone from gyrating to thrusting. Ulon's hand slipped up under his undershorts, the other pulled on the waistband, looking up with big, dark eyes. He wanted it, Force, he wanted it.

_Take it._

"Take it," he rasped, and didn't move to help. He kept his hands in his hair, and offered one of Cherie's trademark looks, a kind of lazy half-sneer, under eyes just trusting enough to assure the object that the sneer was meant for everyone _else_ in the galaxy.

_This is what's for you._

_Right here. Take it. Go on, take it._

He watched Ulon wince as he let his shorts drop to the floor, revealing the worst of the bruises. Watched him wanting to argue him into a trip to the nurse, biting his tongue instead, closing his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. He was so polite, with one hand cradling Bel's cock so it wasn't just bouncing around _shamelessly_ while he paused to make peace with the mess in front of him.

He ran his hands through Ulon's hair, reassuring him _I'm okay, you won't hurt me._

" _Take it,_ " he whispered, and Ulon did, with none of the trepidation of before, none of the shyness about being watched. The suddenness of it took his breath away. He clung to Ulon's head, gasping. He realized in a flash how long it had been since he'd had this. Yes, Ulon had gone down on him before, but it had been so tentative, experimental. And there had been a couple of hasty assignations with contacts, always so rushed. But...

[It must've been when Iolo was reassigned. There had been a window of about twelve hours, between when his transfer became official, releasing him from Poe's command, and when he and his team actually left. They'd made the most of it. 

And it must have been a while before that, too, because when Iolo approached him with a shy little smirk asking if he wanted to _hang out_ before he left, Poe's knees had gone weak.

The thing was, there just weren't many people on D'Qar that would have been legal, available, and compatible. It was okay; most of the time he'd been too busy to think about it. And he was truly grateful for the steel runs. But was it really possible that only _once_ in the last four years had someone just sunk down on his dick with undisguised hunger like this?]

"Are you okay?" Ulon pulled off to ask. His fingers loosened. "Am I hurting you?"

"No! No, honey, please, so good, don't stop," he begged.

It was so good, so warm and wet, kriff, he really did know what he was doing, he'd just been nervous before, _oh_ , it was so good, and _oh, yes_ , his hands were back on his hips, grasping his bruised flesh and _oh, oh Force thank you yes_ , tugging him forward, showing him it was okay, okay to push, okay to thrust into his mouth.

He didn't trust himself; he let Ulon set the pace and obeyed, slow thrusts, warm and wet, more than he'd wanted, more than he deserved, just _more_. Pulled his hands away again, back up to cradle his head and tug his hair, to put them away, to leave Ulon in charge, moving his body how he wanted while his head rolled side to side as he sucked, hard for a while, then lazily, than hard again. There was so much power there, in that hot elastic space between his balls and the back of Ulon's throat, power, in his body, in the other being's hands, not Light or Dark but just alive, flowing around and between them and drawing them together, hot and hard and wet and alive; this was why he was here, why he was still alive, not to preserve another man's memories but to have this and give this -

_This is all there is, man. All there is; take it._

" _Take it_ ," he whispered again, and felt his words, his power, his orgasm shaking down from his shoulders, up from his balls, into his pelvis, escaping from his mouth with a wordless gasp along with the belated thought, _this is what you wanted, right?_

 

Yes, Ulon wanted it; he took it all, took it all until Bel was bracing himself on his shoulders, knees buckling into hard, muscular thighs.

"Watch your knees, hon, c'mon," Ulon pulled him down to sit, let his head drop to his shoulder. Bel kissed him briefly, messily, just to taste himself, to grin into a mouth that was justly pleased with itself, to whisper praise against Ulon's teeth. He curled up on the bed and watched the handsome vet stow everything back in his field kit and retreat to wash his hands again.

He was so good. Too good. He had to be one hot fucking ticket back home. But if he wasn't ready, he wasn't ready. Twenty-five years, hell. That was longer than he'd really even known his own body.

Maybe this would help. Back in the saddle, as they say.

 _My pleasure,_ he told the faceless presence of Kirst from his dream. _It's on the house._

* * *

 


	13. It's not about you anymore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was skirting the truth, and the closer he veered the easier the lies came. But the more of them he told, the harder it was to control. Like a botched slingshot, intended to deflect him away from the past but catching him in its gravity well instead.
> 
> (More sexytimes, post-coital conversation)

"So how's that hangover treating you?"

"I think you sucked it right out of me," Bel grinned. "At least, 90% out."

"I think Stk'ka gets most of the credit for that," Ulon smiled back, looking like he was taking a bit of the compliment.

"Miracle workers, both of you. C'mere."

"I was gonna," he nodded toward the shower.

"I thought we talked about that. _Come here_."

He did, and was pulled into another messy, groping kiss.

"Seriously, I can't believe you were so shy about blowing me before. You're so good at it. How'd you stay so good all these years?"

"Um."

Ulon looked away, but of course Bel realized as soon as the question left his mouth. He already knew that Kirst had pegged him sometimes; when he'd told Bel to _be a good dildo for me_ it wasn't just a dirty way of telling him to stay still. It was his own kink, his own loving memories, something so intimate that he felt he had no right knowing it.

"Oh. I'm sorry." 

"It's alright. But it's not the same, you know."

"I do know, buddy."

"It's just. Looking at you just now, thinking about you punching that guy. It was... inspiring." Ulon skimmed his fingers over bruised elbows, down to his swollen knuckles, rubbing his thumb over them.

"Pretty inspiring yourself." He kissed their clasped hands and started pushing down, to take his turn, but Ulon held him back.

"No? Want me to wait?"

"I was thinking."

"Mmm?"

"I was thinking about what we were talking about. The other night."

 _Oh_.

"You mean," Bel whispered back, "about me fucking you?"

"Yeah."

Frankly, he'd been thinking the same thing, about Ulon fucking _him_.

 _It's not about you_ , she reminded him.

_I know._

And it was endearing, seeing the older veteran, the instructor who had dommed him so well acting so shy. A performance, he'd called that; maybe this was a bit of one, too. Of course he'd have mixed feelings about sleeping with someone else after being married so long, even if it was just a silly little vacation fling. Maybe he was letting it show so brightly because he thought he was _supposed_ to feel that way.

Bel leaned in, groping more aggressively. "Yeah, I wanna do that for you. Wanna make you feel good."

"I mean, when you're ready." His eyes darted down to Bel's very satisfied junk, lolling against his hip. "When you're ready, I just wanna be - I wanna be ready, too."

"Oh, don't you worry about _this_ , honey," Bel thrust his hips forward. "I'm gonna take my time with you."

"It's okay if you're not up for it, you don't have to-"

"Oh, I'm up for it. Or, I will be, real soon. _Real_ soon."

"I meant - the rest of your body, too."

"The rest of my body does what the cock tells it to, honey. It knows its place."

Ulon held up one of Bel's hands, his abraded palm stained brown with antiseptic and shiny with bactagel.

"Yeah. This handsome soldier came by and fixed me up. I don't know if he was a medic or what, but he sure knew what he was doing." He pushed Ulon down onto his back. "I mean _really_ knew what he was doing. Sucked me off so good. I can't tell you much I need to see this guy come."

The dirty talk was doing things for him already, and Ulon smelled so good... he was still holding his hand, rubbing his thumb over his sore knuckles. He curled all but two fingers and twisted them gently in Ulon's palm. Ulon inhaled sharply; his fist closed around Bel's fingers.

"That's what you want, isn't it?" He held Ulon's eyes, fingering his hand, projecting restrained aggression. He watched Ulon's nostrils flare, his eyes widen and gaze at him like he'd never seen him before.

 _That's right,_ he thought, _I am beautiful_. _And you deserve this_. It felt good; it felt like power.

 

And then, that power sputtered to a cringing halt as he realized what an idiot he was. He'd come to Ulon's cabin in the borrowed sweats, not in his own trousers and belt with its little leather pocket of 'blaster maintenance supplies.'

_Fuck._

If it were him, bactagel would be fine, more than fine. But it wasn't sexy to be unprepared, and it certainly wasn't _professional_.

"You okay?" Ulon whispered.

"Yeah, great. I just - I might have to run back to my cabin. To get, you know, lubricant. Sorry, I wasn't planning - I mean I _was_ planning, definitely, but not when I stumbled out of bed this morning, you know?"

_Real smooth, buddy. Real professional._

Ulon grinned up at him, something smug and mischievous twinkling in his eyes. He reached over to the nightstand, opened a pouch, and pulled out a tube of generic PX Personal Lubricant.

"What! You sly fucking dog, were you _planning_ to hook up with someone on this trip?"

"No, no! It's for my nipples."

"Your _what?_ "

He rifled in the pouch and pulled out a roll of athletic tape. He sometimes taped his nipples, he explained, to prevent chafing on long runs or in cold weather, and used the lube to keep the tape from sticking.

"So this is part of your addiction. This is your _kit_ ," Bel tapped on the pouch.

Exactly, Ulon agreed.

"But - wait just a moof milking minute, there, buddy. There's all kinds of unguents that would work for that purpose. But yet you choose this one."

Well, he admitted, that might not be the only thing he _ever_ used it for.

"Tell me," he whispered.

"What do you mean, tell you. You know what I mean."

"Not til I hear it from your lips, honey. Tell me."

"You know. I masturbate. Like a normal, healthy adult."

"Like, get your hand all nice and slick and jerk off?"

"Yep."

" _And_?"

"How do you know there's an _and_?"

Bel lowered his eyelids in a level, _don't bullshit me_ stare.

"C'mon, say it."

"Seriously?"

" _Say it_."

"Kriff, I feel like I'm in one of those artsy porns."

Bel snorted. "Okay, then. No art. Just rip your clothes off and go to town?"

"Perfect, thank you."

"Uh-uh. Want you to tell me how you like it. Cause I'm sure I'll do it differently than you do it. Which you clearly do, all the time," he held up the lube, "because you don't go anywhere without being prepared for it. You know, whatever _it_ is you use this stuff for."

"This is why people gag you, isn't it?"

Bel smiled wide, delighted. "Naw, buddy. I figured that one out all on my own." The smile softened and he asked, "Do you think you can do that for me? Later?"

Ulon ran his thumb over his lips. "Stars, you have the most beautiful lips."

"Is that a _no_?"

He closed his palm over Bel's mouth. "You think I'm gonna start saying no to you _now_?"

Bel kissed his palm and started pushing his way down his body, pulling away the loose, stretchy PT shorts. Ulon turned over, half on his stomach, one leg cocked and pushing his hip up, curled so he could watch over his shoulder.

Bel kissed down his crack, lifted his balls to kiss them too, and kissed his way back up to his tailbone.

"Anyone ever tell you you've got the sweetest little ass?"

"Yeah," Ulon breathed. His eyes were shut, and there was just the faintest undulation in his hips.

"Sure I can't have you in my mouth, just for a few minutes?"

"Not - not yet?"

"Smart man. I never know when to quit. Get all distracted from the mission at hand." He kept talking while he coated his fingers. "I got you, darlin'. Gonna go real slow. Real slow until you tell me otherwise, okay?"

"Yeah."

He tugged Ulon's other hip until he lifted that one, too.

"That's it, lemme see you. So sexy." His finger circled a few laps until he heard an impatient little whimper and felt Ulon start to move under him. He twisted into him gently.

"How's that, sweetheart?"

"Oh, more."

He leaned over him, wrapping one arm around his waist, nice and snug, kissing his shoulder blades, and felt his way in, listening to his breath catching.

"You tell me what to do honey. You're in charge."

"No."

" _No_ stop? Or _no_ you don't want to be in charge?"

"Don't stop."

"You want me to be in charge?"

" _Yess_."

"Mmmh." He twisted deeper. "I suppose that's only fair, once in a while."

"Yeah," Ulon panted, without any apparent irony.

"Yeah. I got you."

He was grinding back against Bel's hand now, minute little gyrations. And those were definitely moans that he was holding back, the tiniest notes of them riding out on his breath.

"That's right, you show me how you like it. Show me, baby."

Another couple of gyrations and he had it, rolling his fingers in a wider arc. "Like that?"

"Yeah, oh, oh yeah. Use your knuckles."

He curled his fingers and tried rolling them again.

"Oh, _oh_ , yes. Yes."

 

Wow.

He was twenty-eight and had been sure he knew all the tricks there were to know. But, this was a new one. He imagined the two young veterans of the recent war in bed together, experimenting, determining that a sphincter was just another muscle to work out, like a tight hamstring.

He tried treating it that way, like PT rather than foreplay, and felt his partner melting around him. He pulled away, to look at what he was doing, and to watch Ulon in his glory, grinding and moaning under him.

 

He saw another future stretching out before him. A procession of shy virgins and nervous widowers, flattered by his attention, grateful for his experience.

A future without bar brawls and bigots, without teeth and tusks and snouts and claws, but full of jewelry and tips and fancy drinks. A future where he lived to see forty.

 

 _You heard the man. You're in charge, here_.

He poked the head of his cock up against Ulon's thigh, right under his ass.

"How you feeling, honey?"

" _Oh_."

"Me too. Feeling like I need to get inside you."

" _Yes_."

"Yes, you ready?"

" _Yes_."

"Yeah you are. Look at you, so ready for me. So good for me." One hand on Ulon's hard little waist, pulling him back. One hand on his cock, his thumb pushing down and guiding him in. He groaned, oh, fucking _stars_ , it felt so good, this heat that still surprised him half the time, this thing that he rarely craved until it happened, and then _oh fuck why don't I do this all the time._

"Just, tell me to stop if you-"

"Go."

So fucking good, and look at him, what a fucking great body, and _fuck_ it felt so good, this nice hot slick hole in a hard fucking body.

_You know it's not always gonna be like this._

"You got it, baby, you got it."

Ulon whimpered something vaguely affirmative.

"You got it."

Ulon jumped; he stopped and pulled back.

"Ss-ss-sss-"

"Take your time."

He felt their pulses throbbing against one another through taut membranes. He waited for the grimace to pass from Ulon's face, for him to start moving under him again, asking for more.

"Only as much as you want," he murmured, as he pushed. He watched Ulon's face open, his mouth open wide, his eyes flutter, stunned with pleasure. He felt _power_.

"How's that feel?"

"Oh."

"Good?"

" _It's so._ "

He smoothed his hands across pale flesh, ribs and vertebrae and lifelong muscles.

"Hurt at all?"

"It's so... it's so easy." He sounded distant, he _looked_ distant, his eyes were glassy. Bel bottomed out and paused to watch him, to feel them pulsing together, Ulon relaxing into it. He hooked their right legs together and nudged Ulon back down into the half-prone position he'd first presented.

"That's right. Nice and easy."

Of course it was easy. After twenty-six years... not that toys and prosthetics weren't awesome, in their own way. He was a fan himself, 100%, 10/10, Force preserve the artists who made them, all thanks and praise to them. But it wasn't the _same_. Sometimes it was better, sometimes it was what he wanted, but he also knew full well how the softest, most lifelike dildo could feel like a steel fucking pipe if his body was expecting something else.

Not that he would say that out loud.

Kirst laughed over his shoulder.

No, he insisted, he would never say that out loud; who did she think he was?

Oh, she knew who he was.

She knew _everything_.

 

He felt earth and stone rushing up past his ears, felt himself falling into one of those cultish hells, one of those crazy warrior ones where martyrs were elevated but suicides served out the rest of their natural lives being slowly eaten and burned. _How do you know the difference_ , he'd asked. _Only the sinner can know what's in their heart_ , was the answer.

This wasn't fair, he begged her. The whole point of being here was to _forget_.

_I told you, kiddo. It's not about you anymore._

 

He whimpered and started moving again before he lost his erection.

He came so weakly he was surprised Ulon even felt it, but he felt it, he loved it, and he clenched around him, his hand wresting back control of his own cock to beat out what he needed. Afterward Bel nudged him onto his side and leaned in to lick his stomach clean, and then dropped his face into the wet splatter on the bed. Ulon sighed in bliss and curled around him. He groped for a blanket, tugged it up over his head, and died in a dark, musky little cave.

...

 

That sound. Again. Someone had been trying to comm Ulon. He felt him leaning over to pick it up. Felt his hand on his head through the blanket, ordering him to _hush, stay_. It felt nice.

"This better be important."

 _"Heyy, sexy,"_ Tana purred. _"Hope I'm not interrupting."_

"You are."

_"Didn't want you to miss out on Kregor and Slegor."_

Ulon snickered at that. "Is that seriously why you commed?"

_"Where is he?"_

"He's - indisposed."

"No I'm not!" Bel yelled out from under the blanket. "Hey Tana! Can I talk to her?"

"No."

_"Lemme talk to him."_

"No."

He wormed his way up to fresh air, but Ulon was holding the comm away; Tana was talking to the wall behind him.

"What did we miss?!"

_"Ohh, not much..."_

"Don't encourage-"

"... _just a pair of active volcanoes."_

Bel's cheeks puffed with sudden, unexpected laughter. Tana cackled.

"Oh no, girlfriend-"

"Don't say it."

_"Yes, say it!"_

"-we've got-"

Ulon flailed, trying to cover Bel's mouth and hold the comm at the same time without exposing either of them.

"-we've got all the-"

The comm fell to the floor.

"-all the active volcanoes we need in here!"

They wrestled for it, but Tana's laughter cut out abruptly as she ended the connection.

 

 

"So we missed the active volcanoes. Anything else worth getting out of bed for?"

They would be landing soon for an accessible tour of dormant hydrothermal vents lined with spectacular crystals, and afterward, for those up for it, a little DIY rockhounding in designated sites. There were hot springs, of course, just outside of Sokor City, a new-from-scratch clean-powered postwar city. It had already attracted half a million residents; there was a popular movement for it to replace Vakeyya as the capital. There was the option to spend the night in the city; they'd spend the next day there for shopping and dining and generally non-educational entertainment.

Bel's heart raced. A city that size probably had a spaceport. Or at the very least, a paralift to Vakeyya. He just needed an excuse to have a few hours to himself.

"So, what's the deal with the springs?" he asked, casually.

The local springs were very hot and ran adjacent to cool mountain streams; moving between the two supposedly imparted "warrior courage."

Both men had a good laugh at that.

"Oh, was that the secret weapon? Was that how you defeated the Empire? Regular trips to the hot springs?"

"No one ever told _me_ about that!"

"They probably thought you were too sexy. Distract everyone from their battle meditation or whatever."

"I don't think I was distracting anyone. I was a pretty scrawny little punk."

Bel growled and squeezed Ulon's waist.

"Anyway, sounds like a dangerous proposition. We should keep you out of those springs before you get yourself in _real_ trouble."

"Trouble? Me?"

"Just saying. It's not every day I get to patch up a handsome young guy after a brawl."

"You must patch handsome young cadets up all the time."

"Yeah, after twisting their ankles running cross country. Not after throwing punches at racist neos." At that, the flame was back in Ulon's eyes.

"True. I hope your students aren't as stupid as I am."

"Hey. Don't call - don't call the guy I'm sleeping with stupid."

"Sorry. I'm sure he's brilliant."

"And brave. And beautiful."

_And bogus._

"Aren't your students the _best and brightest_?"

"You know. There's school smart and then there's life smart."

[Poe had thought most of his peers actually had a pretty good understanding of the big picture. But then, he had been seeing them through his own naive eyes.]

"They'll figure shit out."

"That's what I tell myself."

"It can't be that bad."

"I feel less optimistic about that after last night."

"Wait, what?" Bel frowned at him.

"It's okay, they're fine in the end. But a lot of them go through this phase... you know why they call em  _sophomores_ , right?"

"Sure."

_No you don't. You don't know nuthin bout no schoolin, kiddo. Keep your fucking story straight._

"Sometimes it's their first experience with critical thinking, and they just become kind of... enamored with their own intellect. They question the conventional wisdom, even when the convention is common decency. They wonder aloud if maybe the Empire had some good ideas. Sometimes it's to be provocative, but sometimes I swear they think they're the first person to ask. They get over it, though. Generally."

" _Generally_? Are you saying there are _some_ neoimperialists at the Academy? _Some_ human supremacists?"

"No! Well. Not _really_."

" _How_ really? I mean, are-" he almost said _are we._ "Are they graduating kids that go and and join the First fucking Order?" He couldn't hide the alarm on his face.

"No! At least, none that I've heard of. It's just talk... I mean, when you were dating that cadet, did you ever hang out with his buddies?"

"N-no, not much."

"That kind of flirtation with the past, with evil, even. It's really not an uncommon phase."

"You can call it a phase when it's just intellectual masturbation, but when there's an actual organization, an actual _army_ out there trying to recruit people... some of those kids might be susceptible. I mean, we thought Arkanis was cleaned up, and look at those kids last night!"

"It _was_ cleaned up."

"Apparently not!"

"But maybe the culture never really changed?"

"I guess. I guess it's self-selecting. The lore attracts a certain type."

"Lotta those types around these days."

"Kriff, tell me at least that kids from Hosnian aren't going out and looking for-"

His teeth sunk into his lip; he bit down hard. The rest of the sentence probably would have died in his mouth anyway, but _that's not what happened. Bunny's version was the only version, now._

"Oh, kriff, of course not. Shit, I'm doing a terrible job selling the place."

"Selling?"

"Um. Well. Listen, this isn't what it sounds like."

_Shit. No, don't say what it sounds like you're going to say._

"It's not personal. Not," Ulon waved his hand between them. "And obviously you're making a good living or you couldn't afford to be here. But... from what I hear, there's a shortage of good AI instructors. Or at least, ones that aren't astromech chauvinists. They're all _pilots_. There's so many more applications; it's not just pilots that need to able to work with them."

Bel choked out a laugh. "I'm not," came out in a wheeze. He cleared his throat. "I'm not qualified, man. I never even went to _civic_ school."

"Whatever. There's a lot of new stuff going on in the field, right? People like you decide what the qualifications _are_. And I'm not saying that to twist your arm. I know you're probably not interested. But if you _were_ interested, in a little more... stability in your life, I'd introduce you. Put in a good word for you. That's all. That's all, I swear."

Holy fuck, would this torture never end?

"Well, thanks. Um. I've actually got a pretty full plate right now. I was actually thinking, while we're in Sokor City tomorrow, I should probably check into a relay terminal and check in with some clients."

"Okay. I didn't think you'd be interested. Just letting you know."

"I know."

"I wasn't trying to, like," Ulon motioned between them again. "I'm not trying to turn this into more than a vacation thing, I swear. I wasn't trying to bring you home like a stray pitten. I was just, uh, I think they call it _networking_."

Bel snorted. "Well that's... very professional of you." He pressed his head into Ulon's chest, if only to give himself a moment to go bug-eyed with disbelief.

"It would never work anyway, you know," he laughed as lightly as he could. "They'd all _hate_ me."

"What? Who?"

"You must have a line of suitors, just waiting for you to decide that you're eligible."

"Me? I don't know."

"Oh, come on. Look at you. Look at your hot body and your curious mind and your sweet self. You're like a jock and a nerd and a class clown all wrapped up in one sexy little package."

"Pssh." Ulon rolled into his pillow.

"If word got around that _Coach D hit that_ , I'd be the most envied man on campus."

"Stop."

"It's true."

"I mean, it _is_ kind of a gossip mill."

"Yeah it is."

"Mm. When were you there, again?"

[Ten, almost eleven years, since Poe graduated.]

"I dunno. Like maybe... eight years ago? I don't remember."

"Hmmm." Ulon rolled onto his back and consulted the ceiling. "Were you there when Major Belstac had the affair with the groundskeeper?"

[It was after his time, but he'd heard about it.  _Everyone_ heard about it.]

"Uh, no?"

"I'm only repeating this because everyone already knows it. They had a love shack in the cemetery maintenance cabin."

"Noo! Gross!"

[Poe had volunteered in the cemetery a few times, on weekends. He'd pretty much cried the whole time, but had been assured by the groundskeeper that he'd done a good job.]

"Creepy, right?"

"And kinda... blasphemous?"

"Yeah. But there's not a lot of privacy on campus."

_That's what all those shitty motels are for._

"I honestly don't remember any scandals. But then, maybe I was one of them and just didn't know it."

"Ha.  _Scandal_." Ulon nipped his shoulder. "This cadet of yours, was he out?"

"What, about being- being kinky?"

"Yeah."

"I dunno, he said he was. But maybe that was just so I didn't try to blackmail him or something."

" _Blackmail_?"

"Not that I would! Just, you know how they are about their _careers_."

"Hm."

"I'm just speculating. It's not something we talked about much."

[They talked about it a lot, and Marlen was sensitive enough that Poe never even joked about it.]

"How did you meet him?"

 

This was a disaster.

He never should have admitted to having ever stepped foot on Hosnian Prime, or anywhere in the whole Force-damned system. But they'd been at the springs, Blackrock Springs, fucking _youth and vitality_ or some shit, and they'd all been talking about their younger days, hell, Ulon had confessed to a decades-old affair that his _best friends_ hadn't even known about, fuck this planet and its druggy fucking bathtubs.

And besides, it had made more sense to say he spent a few weeks there once than to try to feign total ignorance, something he knew for an unfortunate fact that he was actively terrible at.

The closest thing to the truth would be to say _we met at Beeva's_ , but he realized with a chilly wave of sickness that there were probably still holos of him floating around there. There had been some on campus, once, too, but Poe had heard secondhand that all his awards had been ripped down after he'd deserted. But Beeva's was another matter; it was full of holos going back decades.

It was doubtful that someone meeting him now would recognize him as the skinny, buzzcut kid from a picture they'd walked past on their way to the fresher. But someone who'd spent the better part of a week shagging him... There had been one, a real beauty. Blissed-out, eyes half-closed, he looked like a pitten getting its chin scratched. But instead of fingers, it was the toe of a boot under his chin. He imagined Ulon coming face to face with it. Asking if anyone remembered that kid in that holo. _Oh yeah,_ they'd say. _Poe Dameron. Best pilot in the fleet, until he defected. I don't care what they say, his mama would be damn proud._

 

"Some bar. One of those shitty ones right off campus."

"Wait, was your gig with the academy?"

"Oh, hell, no. I just went there to hook up. Kind of a square crowd, but physically fit. You know, _athletic_ ," he winked.

_Shut the fuck up._

He was skirting the truth, and the closer he veered the easier the lies came. But the more of them he told, the harder it was to control. Like a botched slingshot, intended to deflect him away from the past but catching him in its gravity well instead.

 

"Do you know what he's doing now?"

"No idea. Never saw him again. Never been back there."

"Hm."

"Maybe you've got a point about _stability_."

"Nah. You're young, get out there, make a name for yourself. No need to settle down. I'm just being _old."_

"Stop it, you're fifty-one. Got half your life ahead of you. You're young, too."

"Ha."

They were quiet for a moment, and then Ulon chuckled.

"What?"

"Ohmigod," he laughed harder.

_Don't ask don't ask don't ask_

"What?"

"Did he ever," he laughed into Bel's shoulder. "Oh, Force. Did he ever show you the Varrick holo?"

 

_What._

_Are you fucking kidding me?_

 

[That was how Poe and Marlen had gotten together in the first place. A holo had gone around, purporting to show one of the deans in some rather impressively compromising activities. For about a week it had been pretty much the only topic of discussion outside of classes. It had come up while they were seated at mess together; their eyes had met, and... well.]

He wasn't sure which was more of a stunner: the blast from the past, or hearing about it from an  _instructor_. The only thing that saved him from choking in astonishment was that he'd been policing his expression the whole time.

"I... don't think so? "

"Oh, you'd remember."

"Now I feel like I'm missing out."

"Oh, Force, you are."

_Wait, you've watched it? You're a fucking instructor!_

"This guy. Dean emeritus, big track guy, comes to all the meets. We go out for drinks sometimes. Back when he was teaching,"

 _Comparative Biology. Dean of the Class of '23_.

"There was this holo, right in your lane, surprised you never saw it. Anyway, one of the guys in it kinda looked like him, and for years there's been this rumour that it's actually him in the vid."

"My lane?"

"You know, hardcore. Whips, restraints, begging for mercy."

[The guy hadn't been begging for mercy, he'd been begging for just enough freedom to do was what being asked of him. In retrospect, Poe had thought it wasn't a very good model of a healthy D/s relationship. And then still later, upon even further consideration, he realized that the viral cut of the holo had passed around with all context edited out. It was entirely possible that the unedited scene told a different story.]

"And this is a dean at the _Defense Academy_?" he gaped, as if it were the craziest thing he'd ever heard.

"No, no. But it looked just enough like him, you know? It's still around, but when it first hit, damn. He had to go out there every day and command respect from the Corps of Cadets, knowing that they'd all watched it, that they were all thinking about it, that they were all calling it _the Varrick holo._ "

"Fuck, man."

"Guy's gotta have balls of fucking durasteel."

"Must be one badass motherfucker."

"Yeah."

"He must have... a lot of integrity."

"He does. I'm proud to know him."

"Does it bother him? I mean, it's... however many years later and _you're_ still calling it the Varrick holo."

"Ha. He calls it _my holo_."

"No shit?"

"Jokes about it all the time. I mean, what else can you do, right?"

"I guess... wait, are you saying he _watched_ it?" Bel gasped, with far too much interest.

"Well, yeah," Ulon shrugged. "I mean, wouldn't you?"

"Wouldn't... I..."

"If there were an alleged sex holo of you. Wouldn't you want to watch it?"

    _Watch it_

"Watch it," Bel repeated.

    _Watch it_

_Wouldn't I want to_

 

The tiny, pale blue ghost of Commander Poe Dameron writhed on the bulkhead like a flame.

 

 

He heard his name or something like it from... somewhere.

No, from nearby.

From right here.

"Bel, kiddo, you alright?"

"Huh?"

"You know where you are?"

_Volcanoes. Pleasure craft. Socorro._

"Socorro."

"Do you know who I am?"

"Yeah."

Ulon was looking into his eyes, wrapping the blanket around him. He was shivering. Again.

"Has anything like this happened before?"

"Like what?"

"You were out of it for a minute there. Do you have, like, a seizure disorder, that you know of? Or anything like that?"

He snorted. _Not likely_.

"I'm just tired. Had a rough night. And a busy morning," he winked. "I just need to rest."

"Would you do something? For me? Let Nurse Jood scan you for a concussion? Please?"

Well, hell.

It's not like he had a good reason to say _no._

 

* * *

 

Just as Stk'ka had predicted, the nurse was more than pleased to have a reason to dust off his equipment. But he frowned a little as the scans began to resolve and merge. 

"Bad news?"

"Well, the good news is you don't have a concussion from last night."

"Didn't think so. Is there something that isn't good news?"

"You've been concussed before, though."

"You can tell that? From the scan?"

Jood nodded and pointed to a couple of spots that looked, to his untrained eye, utterly undifferentiated.

"How bad is that? Is it gonna affect me? Like, long-term?"

As if it mattered. As if there _were_ a long term.

"We can't really know,"

[ _... unless or until any impairment becomes evident. Decision-making, motor function, even your mood can be affected, and that's why we need to monitor you for a little while. This isn't a punishment, Lieutenant. It's just like running a diagnostic on your nav. This is us taking care of you because we need you. You understand?_

 _I hear ya, Poe. I know. Thank you._ ]

"...and it's always possible there'll be no noticeable effect at all. But," the nurse frowned, "I'd feel better if you didn't make a habit of it."

"That makes two of us," he agreed.

...

 

Jood sat staring at the scan for a long time, side by side with a brain anatomy schematic, looking for a pattern to the strange, poxy little lesions. He hadn't mentioned them to the passenger. There was no point worrying him, or that lucky guy he was hooking up with, until he had some idea what they were.

He'd racked his memory and skimmed through the onboard databanks to no avail. Tomorrow they'd be in Sokor City, where he could check into a relay terminal and ask some friends and colleagues for advice.

There was no hurry; brain diseases were almost categorically slow to develop. It could have been there for years already. It could wait a day. And if he didn't get any answers in Sokor, it could probably wait til the end of the trip. He'd give the guy a copy of the scans and urge him to see his physician back home, who would have more training and resources than he did. No point ruining the guy's vacation when he had no idea what they even were.

But whatever they were, he was sure they weren't up to any good.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I want Poe out of there as badly as he does. Soon. There's one more thing he needs to do before he leaves the company of the older scum.
> 
> (I mean, I also want him to realize that stumbling into this particular group may have been the Force reaching out to catch him when he was falling, a second chance, maybe his last chance to go back to the forgiveness he knows is waiting for him. But we already know that's not what happens.)


	14. Warrior Springs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These next 2 chapters will wrap up this arc of the story, which, I know, has been pretty miserable. Things will lighten up considerably after this, ~~I promise~~.  
>   
>  But our hero still has one huge piece of himself to let go of, one that is so far down he has to go pretty deep to get to it. This chapter is going to be awful even by my standards, one long dark nightmare of the id. I'm sorry.
> 
> CW for rape fantasies  
> CW for a brief scene where it looks like ~~Poe~~ intends to kill himself (He doesn't; although his thoughts are intensely morbid, and he has vague plans to put himself in harm's way, he is not _actively_ suicidal.)

* * *

 

He couldn't abide even the thought of touring the caverns with the veterans. Couldn't bear the thought of them shaking his hand, admiring his reckless bravery, pressing him for details about the fight. No, impossible, just _no_. His new friends promised to bring him back something pretty, and he stayed back to spend some quality time with his pillow and his pipe.

It was nice.

At first.

Kirst seemed to be gone, maybe having followed her husband to eavesdrop while Tana teased and grilled him. He'd be coy about the details, maybe cracking some volcano puns of his own. He'd admit to having encouraged Bel to look into steadier work, and she would be almost painfully frustrated with him: _you're his hookup, buddy, not his dad._

...and why was that? Why hadn't they had kids? Ulon would have been such a good father. Everything about him said so: he was responsible and loyal, but also curious and playful, and his springy gray chest hair felt so nice against his forehead-

_"Fuck!"_

He threw the pipe across the room.

"Fuck."

He pushed his face into the pillow. _Tell me something else about him_ , he asked, but she wasn't there.

His thoughts wandered away, and he couldn't even remember what had upset him so much. She was wielding a blue strap-on, long and thin and unnaturally curvy. Ulon breathed patiently around her knuckles like an athlete with a trainer. Grunted toward orgasm under her thrusts like a runner toward a finish line. Embraced her, kissed her, _do you feel like trying to make a baby tonight?_

_Ugh._

He got up to look for the pipe, and almost immediately forgot what he was doing. He poured himself a glass of water, and upon drinking it was shocked that there was no alcohol in it.

 

[Poe was twenty, a junior, and as close to being _full of himself_ as he'd ever been, which wasn't particularly full. He wasn't seeing anyone; dating Marlen last year had been amazing, enlightening, awesome - but also exhausting, and he had responsibilities, now, to underclassmen. Once or twice a month he had enough liberty to go out dancing somewhere, and sometimes he hooked up, and that was enough.

This guy, though, the one that had been stalking him from the edge of the dance floor. Older, very much full of himself. The only person in the club whose predatory arrogance was any match for his own bare-throated brand of it, the one he only wore in places like this. After making eyes for a while he finally decided to let the guy buy him a drink. He found him waiting at the bar with two glasses. He pushed one over, and Poe thanked him with a wink and a promising little pucker.

It was... water. He scowled at the guy, _what kind of a joke is this_?

The guy leaned over him, trapping him against the bar between two _nicely_ muscular arms, bent his head to growl in his ear, _Your body will thank me in the morning_. And then he pulled back and gave Poe the space to walk away, which he did, not because the guy was wrong or because his heart wasn't pounding, with his dick close behind, but because of the whole _principle_ of the thing.

A little while later, he saw the people he was dancing with looking over his shoulder. He didn't need to turn; he knew it was the guy. Felt his hands land on his shoulders and slide possessively down his arms. When they closed around his wrists, he felt it deep, _oh fuck_ he wanted it. He held his head high and proud as the guy marched him out of the club like a prisoner. The angle of his nose told everyone staring not to worry about him, but to envy him. He knew what he wanted and he was about to get it. Water wasn't the only thing his body would be thanking the guy for.]

...

 

Not everyone had gone to the caverns. A few of the self-proclaimed slugs were chilling in the observation lounge. A middle-aged guy sat alone by a viewport reading the same iconic biography of Lando Calrissian that Ulon had on his nightstand; he didn't even look up. Two others were talking nearer the bar: an elderly human woman, close to Shike's age, whose name he was too stoned to remember, and the Sullustan woman, whose name he'd never properly caught in the first place, which made him feel like an asshole.

They looked up to offer him air-fives, which he returned with a smile, and went back to their conversation in lower tones, which he assumed meant they were talking about him.

He was offered a handful of leftover fruit slices along with his whiskey, which seemed like a _very_ good idea. He took them and sat at the viewport furthest from the reading guy and settled into a nice smooth Corellian whiskey. He stared out at the lava fields, at the smoke and steam rising from cracks in the ground, and tried not to think.

 

Hairline cracks had appeared in the stone hundreds of years ago. While they were still too narrow even to admit light, superheated steam had hissed up through them depositing its mineral load. The earth shook, the sunlight penetrated. Solid stone, warm, brown, white and pink. Crystals, shiny, colorful, cold, superficial. Stone, brown, white, pink, warm, solid.

_< Should we turn around?>_

_Got no choice here, pal... Besides, don't you want to see what's down here?_

 

He sipped his drink, letting it burn, letting the vapor escape from his throat like geothermal steam, like crystals might sprout from his teeth.

The fruit was gone; he didn't remember eating it. His drink was gone. The bartender said something about the tail of the wolf what bit ya, and he was back in his seat with a fresh one.

 

He wasn't surprised when Kadja sat across from him.

"Hey."

"Hey."

They sat and drank, like the first day, when Kadja had found him with tears leaking so slow and silent he hadn't even noticed them. They looked out the viewport for a long time before Kadja said quietly, "I heard you threw the first punch."

"Yep."

_Got a problem with that?_

But the older vet just smiled a little and asked him if he'd hurt his hand, in a transparent attempt at humor. He held it for for him to see, then turned it over to show the scrapes.

"Hurt more when he knocked me down."

Kadja hummed like there was some moral to that, and went back to considering the landscape. Bel wished his drink were empty so he had an excuse to get up. But it wasn't, and eventually he had to ask.

"So, what'd you do in the war?"

"Intelligence."

"That's... fairly broad."

"Mmm."

After a while he elaborated, "Ended up in signals. In the end."

_In the end._

Bel swallowed. He looked into his glass.

_Don't ask._

"Ended up, huh?"

"Nothing hi-tech. Language analysis. Don't have the smarts for cyphers."

"You a linguist? Polyglot?"

"Not that kind of language," Kadja shook his head. "Jargon. Code words."

"Really. Hard to imagine Imperial officers having the imagination for that."

"You're not wrong. I didn't contribute a lot in that capacity. It was a kindness. A soft landing."

_Don't ask._

But he was leaving. Tomorrow. Definitely. And they'd been so nice to him.

 _Act normal_.

Act normal, so they wouldn't worry, so they wouldn't hover, so they wouldn't observe, so they wouldn't try to escort him or tail him.

_But don't ask._

"Landing, you say."

Kadja sighed and appeared to be considering his words. "I was a psychologist before the war. Trained under the Empire. Obviously."

The whiskey and fruit roiled together in his stomach.

"Oh." His hand tightened around his tumbler. "So. Were you a. Like a spy or something?"

"For a long time I didn't answer that. I wasn't, but if field agents are the only ones who don't answer, it rather gives them away."

"I'd think field agents would just lie."

"Good point," Kadja nodded.

He tried to sip his whiskey, but the smell of it was suddenly repulsive. His breath through his nose sent ripples across the surface.

"So were you, uh, planning ops? Briefing agents? That's what they call it, right, _briefing_?"

"Yeah. And, no."

"Or, uh, debriefing?"

"Not exactly."

He managed a tiny sip.

"Not _our_ agents."

That sip was a mistake. His hand clenched, the steam puffed, his stomach screamed.

 

He glared out the viewport. He couldn't even look at the sad, mild-mannered old man across from him, but he felt his eyes on him.

"Your friend," Kadja said quietly. "I hope it was quick."

"No. I don't think it was."

He hoped Kadja felt it like a kick in the gut.

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah."

Kadja looked at him as if he could absolve him on behalf of all the families of the prisoners he'd interrogated. He couldn't even - couldn't even let that in. He felt it again, rage, closing in. He had to change the subject or _just walk away_ before-

"So, Kadja. What do you do now?" He felt meanness creeping across his face. "Tell me you're not practicing as a counselor."

"Course not. I'm an accountant now. For the NRBT."

The stolen credits joined the whiskey and fruit in a tumultuous mix that needed to explode out of his stomach.

"That sounds... peaceful."

"Boring, you mean."

Bel shrugged. He could feel the blood draining from his face, the cold sweat creeping up his spine. He set his tumbler down without finishing it.

"Have that if you want," he pointed at the glass as he stood. "I don't feel so good."

"I'm sorry, Bel."

He shook his head. If there was a right thing to say, it was nowhere near his grasp. And, he realized with a flash of resentment, he wasn't the first person to hear this. Kadja had friends and family and had probably been in therapy as long as Poe had been alive.

"I gotta go."

* * *

 

The smooth curves and clean whiteness of his cabin didn't make it any less claustrophobic. He felt like an animal in there.

_Get out of the plane_

He couldn't even remember everything he'd said to Kadja at the stupid fucking balls-tripping springs, just that he'd poured his fucking guts out. What he wanted was to storm back out to the lounge and beat the shit out of the guy, make _him_ talk for a change.

_He did talk._

_He wanted to talk._

_Well I didn't need to fucking hear it._

_Get off the ship_

But there was nowhere to go; they were still in the middle of the fucking desert.

 _You get as far_ _away from here as you can! D'you_ _hear me?_

_speeding away at approximately mark 215_

_the survivors dragging the bodies to unmarked graves in the shifting dunes, dry-eyed and efficient_

 

He crumpled into the bunk, coming down already, torn between wanting the pipe in his mouth again and being too fucking angry to crawl under the luggage rack to find it.

_That's a terrible idea, dude. You've got a date tonight._

He groaned into his pillow and tried to think about that instead, about how Ulon was going to gag his mouth and fuck him hard, but he kept seeing Kadja's black-gloved hands reaching for him, smashing his head against the wall of some dank rebel bunker.

_Comfortable?_

_Get_

_Tell me about him._

_Get out of the plane_

_Do you mean... he went with the Senator?_

_Get off the ship_

_What was his name?_

_Get_

_Where is it?_

 

He looked up at the ceiling, but the rooms in the high-class yacht were all rounded, organic, egg-shaped, it was supposed to be natural and comforting. But it meant he couldn't even employ Poe's technique of measuring the room. Not easily, anyway, there were formulas, for angles, curves...

 

_...there were four, no, three? Four. Five? Four. Four handsome young things, buying him drinks._

_If you come back with us, you're gonna be out real late._

_And here we are. With their frighteningly accurate costumes in their terrifyingly convincing dungeon._

_You gonna cooperate this time? Don't make me bust your face up again. Face like that attracts trouble. You don't want trouble, do you?_

His hand pushed under his trousers, to the bruises on his hip.

_No. I don't want trouble._

 

_...they let him go to medical afterward, but it wasn't on a star destroyer; it was Jood's office, on the sweet luxury airship._

_Get off the ship_

_...he heard the glove snapping onto the nurse's hand._

_What did you do this time?_

_I didn't_

_Well, you did something._

_Aren't you going to_

_Lube? Are you kidding, you're dripping like a whore._

His hand slid over his hip, into his groin.

_...the mess leaking from his tender, bruised and abraded hole did nothing to lubricate him; the semen stung and the blood grit like sandpaper. The nurse should have known that, should have known-_

_But you feel so good like this, the nurse crooned._

His hand was wrapped tight around the base of his cock, now, and kriff, this was fucked up, even for him.

_No_

_Shut up, he gritted, and slapped the filthy glove across his mouth._

He was so horny it hurt, and he wished to every god he had a dildo with him right now, and he whimpered out loud.

 _Shut up or I'll_ _**give** _ _you a concussion_

Oh, oh, oh oh, there, right there, the beginning of this orgasm sprouted, a little pop of pleasure, a seed splitting open. This, he thought, was even worse than the stormtrooper stuff, but he was in no place to resist, not when it felt so good.

_The nurse grunted in agreement. It hurt, it hurt and he choked back his whimpering._

He knew that hurt, it wasn't sexy, it wasn't even _hardcore_ , it was just fucked up, why, why was he-

_Why are you doing this to me_

_Because it feels so good_

_But_

_Shut up. Shut up or_

The tendrils of it grew and spread and wrapped around him, burrowed into him, filled him with pleasure. He played it again, like a lab rat pressing a button for another dose, he played it again, _Shut up or I'll_ _ **give**_ _you a concussion,_ and it was just... pleasure, undeniable, sheer fucking pleasure. He held onto it as long as he could; he didn't want it to end.

_...the nurse stuffed the filthy glove into his mouth and taped it shut. Backhanded him, punched him, slammed his head against the steel exam table._

The orgasm ripped through him like long, bone-rattling thunder, it was heavenly, and he wanted to die right there, it was so good.

But within moments the light-as-a-feather, stiff-as-a-board tension crackled out of his limbs and left him limp and heavy on the bunk, a freshly slain body. There was sweat in his curls and cum soaking into his undershirt, and the nurse and the troopers and everyone was gone, leaving him alone with his shame.

 

He took a scalding hot shower, as if it could open his pores and wash the poison out of him. Wrapped himself in the plush white robe and crossed his fingers that the cruise was luxe enough to have flimsi in the desk in his room; he didn't want to go out to the concierge and risk seeing Kadja again.

[Poe didn't know why that was a thing with fancy hotels. He supposed you could use it for anonymous hookups, like you could slip notes to people you didn't want to trade comms with. Or in a pinch maybe you could burn drugs or incense or tabac. Snap, ball of sunshine that he was, pointed out that flimsi was the medium of choice for suicide notes. Why, then, Poe argued, if they knew it, would these places enable it? Snap shrugged in that tired way he had that reminded him that he had already seen and lost more than Poe hoped he would ever have to. He didn't know, he said, but he imagined the people who made use of these amenities appreciated it.]

 

* * *

 

He answered the door in his robe; it was huge and fluffy enough to be quite modest, but it still elicited a look from Tana.

"Just making the most of the amenities," he grinned, plucking at the robe and looking away from the desk drawer with his notes in it.

She frowned. "How are you feeling?"

"Man, you don't beat around the bush, do you? Which is ironic, considering, you know." He offered a wide smile, complete with leaping eyebrows, and she returned a fond, sisterly one.

"He's worried about you."

_And you're his best friend, so..._

"And so you're worried about him."

"Kinda my job."

"He's a smart guy. He knows what this is." He slipped his hand into the robe and ran his finger down his sternum. "Let him have this."

Her eyes followed his finger.

"Aren't you glad to see him, you know, back in the saddle?"

"Oh, gross." She winced at the metaphor.

"Come on. Tell me there aren't people back on H1 just _dying_ to get under that."

"Kriff, you make it sound like therapy or something."

He shrugged, but she held his eyes until the full implication of that sunk in.

"Tch. _Rude_."

"Yeah. That was rude."

    _You can use this. For the alibi._

"Well," he hung his head. "I guess you're not that far off. I move around a lot, don't make a lot of lasting relationships."

She made a grudging little noise.

"It's just. You know. The last time I really... loved someone," he held his palms up helplessly. "It's easier just to sleep my way around, you know?"

"Oh, kiddo, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it."

"And I'm sorry I crashed your party, and that I'm having such a rough time. I've got a lot on my mind, and I know I should be _jogging_ instead of drinking, I know all that."

"No, kiddo, take your time to figure out what you need to figure out. You're a great guy. Maybe I'm just projecting onto Ulon, because... well... I wouldn't mind seeing you again next year. I think pretty much everyone here would love to see you next year. And we'd love to see you _happy_."

Bullshit or not, he couldn't stop his eyes from welling up at that. He wiped them with a plush sleeve. She pulled him into a hug.

"Don't tell him I said that? About me being, you know, promiscuous? I mean it's not like he doesn't know, but it's..."

"Rude?"

"Yeah."

 

* * *

 

The springs were going to be torture, he knew. They had laughed, earlier, about the idea of water imparting _Warrior Courage_ , but he'd seen what this place could do. He knew how it was going to go. The war stories would flow, the triumphs, the braggadocio, the mutual admiration.

It would be torture, but it would be an invaluable asset to his alibi. The one he'd crafted so as not to hurt anyone's feelings more than necessary. After his first, disastrous attempt to flee, he wasn't going to do anything like that again, wasn't going to do anything that would hurt the people that had been so kind and welcoming and generous.

Well, except for Kadja.

Kadja could rot in fucking hell.

 

* * *

 

It was just as bad as he imagined.

He let his aching body soak in the hot water as long as the small talk lasted. There were numerous variations on the jokes they'd made earlier about the hot springs being a secret weapon. Once the war stories really got going, he made himself busy moving between the streams, just as the local tourist-gouging hucksters recommended.

At one point he was soaking in the heat as the octogenarians were holding forth on the Clone Wars. That seemed safe enough, and so he settled back into Ulon's side and did his best to drift away before the subject turned again.

He imagined sinking under the water, going down on Ulon. It would be a tease, he'd only last a minute at a time. Maybe the man would encourage him to push himself, holding his head gently, not enough to really hold him down but just to _encourage_ him...

_...he'd be the one to fuck up, of course. He'd get lost in it, he'd inhale, his body's reflexes would seize his lungs and his throat. It would feel so good to his man, his throat hard and tight around the head of his cock..._

 

...someone was talking about the Battle of Endor, and he couldn't, he just couldn't. He took a breath and sunk under the water. He didn't try anything, just balled up and held his breath as long as he could. Like most fighter pilots, it was a pretty long time.

They were talking about _her_ , now, when he surfaced, and he blocked her name, like a frequency he couldn't hear or a color he couldn't see, but redacting the conversation was exhausting, and he just wanted to sink back under the water...

_... the man's hands were in his hair and his feet were on his calves, holding him down. Gentle, at first, like he was helping him. But he could feel the man's pleasure when he started choking, feel him grasp tighter, step harder, the tension in his thighs..._

_...he would feel the very moment when his man decided. Decided that this pleasure meant more than his life. Started holding him down for real, pushing his head down, his lungs would burn; he knew that feeling, too._

_...he hoped the guy was right, that it was worth it. Even if it was a selfish thing to hope, because it wasn't about him anymore. No one would see, they'd see nothing but a bulge in the man's triceps at the waterline, a vein bulging in his neck, and his eyes closed tight... hiding behind them, he hoped, was astonished bliss, like nothing he'd ever felt before, something that he'd remember... he hoped the guy would remember him. Whoever he was._

 

"Hanging in there, buddy?'

That was for him. It was from so far away, and he knew how to get back there, but he didn't want to go, he didn't want to go.

"Mmm."

"Falling asleep?"

He inhaled, let the oxygen into his lungs, into his bloodstream. Inhaled again, maybe a little was getting to his brain.

"M'mokay."

_I'm not sick._

Oh, but the oxygen was a mistake, too, because now he could hear them, and they were talking about the fucking _Resistance_. Arguing, really, and nothing novel: of course the First Order had to be stopped, but was this the way to stop them?

_Well, it's better to prepare for a war that never happens_

_But all it takes is one wannabe hero to fire the first shot, and_

_And public sympathy would swing toward the Order_

Wait, did people really have no idea how many  _first shots_ had already been fired?

_What about the sanctions and embargoes_

_Oh, because the navy has been so successful so far, right?_

His ears begged him to go back under.

_They have so many senators in their pocket_

_No, not just in their pocket. On their side, in collusion_

_The Republic isn't going to do anything_

_Not until they've actually done something illegal-_

"Bllsht."

"What's that, son?"

    _Shit, was that out loud?_

Long, stuttering inhale. Oxygen, to the lungs, to the brain. Eyes, focus. Okay, that's not gonna happen. Eyes, point somewhere toward the people.

"Tolly'llegal."

"What's illegal?"

There was no way  _remilitarizing in direct contravention of the Galactic Concordance_ was going to make it out of his mouth.

Inhale. "Building a navy."

_Good luck proving it_

_Didn't they investigate the CSA?_

_Ha! Investigate_

_Bullshit is right_

_The Centrists had their thumbs on the scale_

_They're laundering credits, everyone knows_

_And there are legal ways to obscure transactions_

_But as long as they stay in their sectors, we can't do anything_

Inhale. "Killed. Killed a Navy pilot."

_What?_

_No, they couldn't have gotten away with_

"Covered it up." Inhale. "For peace."

_They're dangerous enough as it is, no need to spread rumors_

"Shouldna Senate least 'nvestigate?"

_Well,_

Inhale. "Stole. Fuhkinh.  _Children_."

There were tuts and murmurs at that. Some of them had at least vaguely heard of this conspiracy theory before. Some thought it plausible or even likely, some thought it far-fetched, but all agreed there was no proof.

Inhale. "Get home. Commyer sennader. Askem'no 'nvestigate. Plisse."

Ulon touched his arm, and he knew he sounded drunk, sounded crazy. It just took so long to surface, sometimes, from his place. Especially to somewhere he didn't even want to be, the reason he'd gone away in the first place. He didn't know why he was even here, or why he was _talking_ again.

"You okay, bud?"

"S'tired. Sorry. But isstrue. Plisse."

"Need to get out? Dry off?"

"Nn'ta wait."

It had been a heroic effort. He let his head fall back against the bank, let his eyes roll back in his head.

_... he needed to wait, needed to hold the body down until everyone else had left. No he didn't know where the kid had gone, maybe to take a piss..._

_... and that's just what the guy would do, while he was waiting. The water was so hot he wouldn't even feel it at first. Just a trickle, and then a steady stream against the back of his throat, swirling into the water in his lifeless mouth, diluting, washing away with the current..._

_...the man would caress his face for a moment, saying goodbye with his fingers, of course he'd remember him. And then he'd let go, push him away, watch his body bob to the surface a few meters downstream... maybe he'd even be sentimental enough to watch while it slipped away with the current._

 

* * *

 

Was _heroic_ too strong a word? For the effort it took to resurface, to keep his eyes open and stand upright and put one foot in front of the other, realizing with every step that he might have just fucked himself, and even worse, that  _something was coming_ , something dreadful that he couldn't place.

After a kriffing  _journey_ , Ulon let them into an objectively lovely room in Sokor City, where he could finally drop the satchel containing everything he owned in the galaxy and fall to his knees beside the huge, fluffy bed.

"C'mon, kiddo," Ulon murmured, pulling him back to his feet. Bel looked at him with his widest, most pathetic eyes, and he wasn't even trying. _Please_ , he mouthed. He watched Ulon's eyes play over his face, studying him. _Please._

"Okay," he nodded, although he didn't look thrilled about it.

Bel's body reacted instantly. He let himself shrink, _yes_ , his tongue fell loose in his jaw again, his eyelids dipped heavily. He stood calmly waiting for instructions, wondering dimly if the other man had any idea how precious it was, now, for him to trust someone, how rare it would be, going forward.

"Take your clothes off."

He did so neatly, without hurrying. Ulon went over his wounds again and was apparently satisfied with their progress. He pulled something out of his bag, a kerchief, and relief washed through Bel's system.

"Lie down."

Ulon stood at the end of the bed with the kerchief in his hand, drinking in the sight of him. He seemed to have a thing about keeping his clothes on as long as possible, and that was definitely a thing _he_ used to like, too. If they had more time, that would probably be an interesting thing to explore together. To _talk_ about.

Ulon crawled over him, straddling him without putting any weight on his hips.

"Is this alright," he whispered. Bel nodded dumbly.

He picked his hands up, holding him by the wrists, pushed them over his head and leaned in and kissed him deep. The sensation of soft canvas rubbing against his thighs, against his half hard cock. The metal belt buckle moving in his pubes and against his smooth bare stomach. It was familiar and erotic and threatening and comforting all at once.

It was a long, hot kiss, and he was fully hard when Ulon broke away and whispered again that he had beautiful lips. He tied the kerchief around his neck, under his chin, and then, instead of turning it around, pulled it up and pressed the knot into his mouth. _Make yourself pretty_ , he ordered, and Bel hadn't thought he could have it in him to come again today but god _damn_ this guy was speaking his language. He wrapped his lips around the knot, making them look pretty and welcoming. Ulon groaned approvingly and rubbed against his thigh, and _Force_ there was nothing like the feel of that.

"How's that feel?"

Bel let every bit of his comfort and pleasure show through.

"Good boy."

Ulon curled around behind him, spooning, one arm under his head, the other wrapped around him, gripping his wrists firmly. Bel wriggled against it, rubbing the naked flesh of his ass up against the clothed erection behind him, against the thrilling metal of the belt buckle.

"Rest now. Fuck later." His voice was stern and confident, with no space for argument, and Bel went limp in his arms. Chest hair tickled his back, and there was no avoiding it, but still he tried not to think about it. Tried not to think about how such a sweet, nature-loving nerd had once been such a badass soldier.

[Poe had written a note, along with all the others, but he doubted it had been delivered yet. Mainly for security reasons, but also because they knew he was alive. They were probably holding out hope for his return, and didn't want to worry the guy unnecessarily. He probably didn't even know his son was missing.]

Ulon kissed the bruise on the back of his head, just above the makeshift gag. He rubbed his nose against it, making it sting, and kissed it again. Bel let himself fall into comfort and safety in his arms.

 

Under the comfort and safety he was still horny as fuck, and he didn't know how long he was going to have to wait, only that he needed that cock, needed those open trousers against his thighs, that belt buckle banging against his hip, he needed this guy inside him, filling him with... with... with _anything_ , kriff, with _slimy yellow eggs_ and rage threatened the calm, or _hot yellow piss_ and oh fuck, was that going to be a thing now, seriously?, or just his whole damn arm up in him like a nerf in labor, feeling around for something alive inside him...

 

_...he was full, so full it hurt, he was curled on the floor, his guts cramping, but he was being ordered Out, Get out there and show them who you really are. He crawled, naked and cramping down the hall, not here in the hotel but on the Cloud, out to the lounge where the scum were laughing and drinking. Show them who you really are, Ulon demanded, and yanked him up to his knees by the hair. They were laughing at him, now, for being such a fraud. Show them, he said, and they were lining up to use him. But it hurts, he begged. Shut up, whore, shut up or_

 

_YOU HAVE NO RIGHT_

_No! Oh gods, go_

_He's a good man, Poe._

_I'm not_

_You have no right to drag him into this sick fucking mess._

_I'm not_

_Look at you!_

_Don't, please, don't_

_I tried._

_I know_

_Maybe that kid was right. Maybe you have done your part._ _But this?_ _You chose this._

_I didn't_

_Maybe_

_I did_

_I'm sorry_

There was no comfort, no _yes you are sick, come home._ No _you're still my son and I still love you._

Just... disgust.

_I'm sorry._

He threw down the posey in his hand, ground it under his heel and spat on it.

_I'm sorry!_

Something sliced him up the middle, unspeakable pain. He felt his guts spilling out, his hands flew to his belly to hold them in, but his fingers sunk into a writhing mass of dicks. He pressed his palm to his heart, as if he could stop it bleeding, and found empty space there, a wormhole to the fridgid interstellar void. There was a dirty husk of leather, just out of his reach. When he reached for it, it skittered away, and he couldn't even tell if it had been kicked, or if it had spun away of its own volition. 

 

There was no gasping awake or panting or crying out this time.

Just blinking out into a dimmer world where nothing mattered.

 

 

* * *

 


	15. May the Force be with you

* * *

 

Lately, APRN Johalln Jood had been thinking of quitting his gig on Socorro because it wasn't interesting enough. Well, he supposed, _be careful what you wish for_. He'd spent most of the afternoon at a relay terminal in port, showing the passenger's brain scans to some of the doctors he'd worked with and a few smart friends. For the most part they agreed with him: they'd never seen anything like it, but these things tended to develop slowly and go undiagnosed for years. There was no call for alarm, as long as the passenger had a decent physician at home.

And the one person who had frowned deeply was the easiest to write off, a friend who was more of a _healer_ these days than a nurse, studying under an ancient mentor who claimed to be somewhat Force sensitive. But he promised to comm her back after she'd had a chance to consult and before he let the passenger go.

He was thinking about all this when the guest director knocked on his door.

"Hey," she began tentatively.

"What's up?"

"You said you were at a terminal all day?"

"Most of it, yeah."

"The station here, in port?"

"Yep."

"You didn't happen to see passenger Ota there, did you?"

Understandably, he felt some misgivings at that.

"No... is he, uh, not back yet?"

"No. And apparently he doesn't have a working comm."

_Shit._

"Did you look in his res, maybe he just doesn't want to give it out?"

She looked at him like _really?_ Keeping passengers' records was her _job._

"Sorry. Shit."

"No, no, not your problem. He just said he was going be at a station most of the day, and I just thought I'd ask if you happened to see him, that's all, don't worry."

"Well. Um."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Well. It's probably nothing. And it's definitely confidential. But, um. You _might_ want to worry."

...

 

Min hadn't been lying when she threatened to beat his door down. She was attempting to do just that when the ship's captain turned down the hall with the nurse and a security bot in tow.

The protocol the captain was following was to have a security bot scan the room for signs of life. If there were none, then either there was no one inside, or no one who was going to object. She didn't say the latter part to passenger Glasser, but from the way her jaw was set, preparing for the worst, she didn't have to.

The captain went in first. The room was nearly empty but for a few items neatly rolled on the luggage rack: a nice dress tunic, a set of warm-up sweats, a pair of trainers. The bunk was made, and there were two flimsis sitting on it. One was simply folded in half. The other was intricately folded into a tamper-evident little box and addressed to Ulon Duriopolla.

Her shoulders sagged with relief as she read the first one. He was alive, at least. At least for now. She offered it to passenger Glasser with a sypathetic smile.

" _Oh, Force_ ," Min whispered as she read. She handed it back to the captain. "Would you? I don't think I can."

"Of course."

 

Min pasted something like a smile on her face as they re-entered the lounge. Everyone was staring.

"He's okay. Sort of. The captain has a. A message."

She sat next to Ulon, who was trying very hard to look unworried. She handed him the private note.

"He's okay," she said again, squeezing his hand.

The captain stood on a step and read the open letter:

 

_To my heroes:_

_No words will ever express my gratitude to you: for the parts you played in liberating the galaxy I know, or for your generosity in welcoming a lonely, grieving stranger into your midst._

_I've lived my life up until now grateful for my freedom, but perhaps too secure in it. Like many, I assumed that the First Order was a fringe movement, not to be legitimated by taking them too seriously. My recent experiences have torn the scales from my eyes._

_I believe now that the First Order is more than just a nostalgic separatist project. I believe they truly intend to rebuild the Empire and are amassing the resources and political connections to do it. They are no fringe, no joke. They are the enemy of freedom._

_Most of you wanted nothing to do with war, when you were my age, but were compelled to resist an oppression worse than death._ _As some of you know, a dear friend of mine recently lost his life to that same cause. The choice I am making today is to honor his life, and to honor all of you._

_I'm not going to put it in writing, but you all know what I'm talking about. I'm doing what I should have done earlier, and I credit all of you with giving me the courage to do it._

_I'm sorry to leave so abruptly, but I was afraid I would lose my nerve if I thought about it too long. Please know that all of you will live in my heart as long as I'm alive. I love you._

_May the Force be with you,_

_Bel Otaale_

 

 

Slowly, hushed voices began to enter the space of stunned silence. Ulon didn't need to look up to hear them turning toward him, or to see the questions on his friends' faces: Had he known about this? Were his feelings hurt?

He would have to figure his feelings out later.

For now, he did the only thing he really could do, under the circumstances.

He stood up straight, he squared his shoulders, and he raised his glass.

"To the Resistance."

"To the Resistance," his friends echoed.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wouldn't that be great? If this was the end, if Poe turned himself in?
> 
> Sorry, not in this universe.
> 
> Spoiler: Jood and his colleagues are wrong. They are not looking at a disease; they are looking at an injury, a direct effect of Poe's exposure to the Dark side. This is good, though: it means it's probably not going to get any worse. Over time, it _could_ even get better.


End file.
